



















































COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


G P O 






/ 












PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


BOOKS BY 

MARGUERITE MURPHY 


Picture Jackets in Colors and Illustrations by 
Elizabeth Withington 

Price, $1.60 each 

PATRICIA FROM NEW YORK 

PATRICIA AND THE OTHER GIRLS 
The Story of a Summer Came 

PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

BOSTON 
















“Good for \ou, Patricia! I wasn’t sure you had it 

IN YOU! ’’—Page 197 . 
























PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


By 

MARGUERITE MURPHY 

9 t 


Illustrated by 

ELIZABETH WITHINGTON 




BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

















Copyright, 1927 
By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


Patricia’s Problem 



<27-nitf 


Printed in U. S. A» 


JJortooob $retfs; 
BERWICK & SMITH CO. t 
Norwood, Mass. 


SEP 20’27 


©Cl A1 004248 





CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. 

Patricia Asks Advice 


Page 

9 

II. 

Roberta’s Picnic . 


17 

III. 

Joyce Decides . . 


28 

IV. 

Ray’s Visit .... 


39 

V. 

The First Day 


52 

VI. 

School Starts 


69 

VII. 

Sailing .... * 


87 

VIII. 

Joyce’s Birthday . 


107 

IX. 

Turk’s Head . 


123 

X. 

A Letter from Sally 


145 

XI. 

Hallowe’en 


164 

XII. 

In Trouble 

• e 

181 

XIII. 

The Yale-Princeton Game . 

198 

XIV. 

Christmas Holidays . 


219 

XV. 

Basket-ball 


237 

XVI. 

The Horseback Trip . 


253 

XVII. 

Another Scrape . 


270 

XVIII. 

Graduation 


283 


5 









ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Good for you, Patricia! I wasn’t sure 
you had it in you” (Page 197) Frontispiece 

Facing Page 

A smartly-dressed maid answered her ring 54 
“ Do I look like an heiress? ” asked Joyce 206 
Gallant little Bobby dropped out first . 248 


7 


I 


i 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


CHAPTER I 

PATRICIA ASKS ADVICE 

Patricia came into her mother’s room 
quietly. Her head was held high, and her 
eyes flashed. Mrs. Strickland looked up in 
surprise from the letter she was writing. After 
one look at her daughter, she laid down her 
pen. 

“What is it, Patricia?” she asked. 

Patricia walked to the window and gazed 
out. For a few minutes she was silent. Mrs. 
Strickland said no word. From below came 
the sound of a machine-driven lawn-mower. 
“Happy Haven,” the country place of the 
Stricklands, was large and beautiful. The 
huge lawn stretched away smoothly to the 
shores of a lake. From where Patricia stood 
she could glimpse a corner of the luxurious 
garden and a bit of the tennis courts. Early 

September sunlight gilded grass and trees. 

9 


10 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


But Patricia was not seeing the beauty below 
her. She was frowning very hard, almost, 
it seemed, trying to keep back tears. She 
turned abruptly. 

“Mother, I just don’t know what to do.” 

“In what way, Patricia?” 

“School starts in two weeks, a little over. 
I don’t want to go.” 

“You don’t want to go? ” Mrs. Strickland 
was greatly surprised. 

“Well, yes,” —Patricia turned back to the 
window,—“of course, I do want to go. I’ve 
always loved it at Miss Brent’s, but—” 

Again silence, broken only by the sound of 
the mower. 

“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Strickland 
wore a puzzled frown. 

“Mother,” began Patricia in a choked 
voice, “I came home early from ^Marion’s 
party last night.” 

“Yes, dear, I know you did.” 

“Yes, but you don’t know why .” Patricia 
whirled again fiercely to face her mother. 

Mrs. Strickland said nothing, only shook 
her head. 

“Well, I came home because I wouldn’t 
smoke and I wouldn’t drink. They all 


PATRICIA ASKS ADVICE 


11 


laughed at me. They all said I was a—well 
never mind that. They said a party was no 
fun unless you did those things. But out 
at Grandma Parson’s we never did anything 
like that, and we did have such good times!” 

Patricia stopped with a gulp. 

Mrs. Strickland stood erect. 

“Does Marion’s mother know what kind 
of a party this was? ” 

“No, I don’t suppose so. No, the mothers 
don’t know—mostly. They’re hardly ever 
there. They’re too busy to care.” 

“But—but—” Mrs. Strickland was at a 
loss for words. “Marion! Why, Marion 
Howland is the daughter of Alicia Howland. 
She has always been such a delightful child.” 

“Yes, I know, Mother,” answered Patricia, 
a bit impatiently. “All the girls are like 
that. When they’re with older people, they 
pretend to be proper, and all that sort of 
thing. It’s part of the game. But they 
aren’t—not really.” 

“That’s lying,” protested Mrs. Strickland. 

Patricia shrugged her shoulders. 

“I don’t think they mean it that way, 
exactly. I used to do it myself, some, before 
I went West. I learned a lot out there.” 



n 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Patricia!” Mrs. Strickland was shocked. 

“Why, of course I did. Every one does it. 
Have you forgotten about Roy Walker? ” 

“Hardly.” 

“He was there last night,” said Patricia, 
in ,a low voice. 

“Patricia!” 

“Oh, it was quite all right. He didn’t 
come of his own accord. Mrs. Howland in¬ 
vited him. You know Marion has always 
admired him immensely. Not that I mind 
that,” Patricia added hastily, a bit too 
hastily. “But he was—” Again Patricia 
stopped and bit her lip. 

“Well?” prodded her mother gently. 

“Oh, he wanted to know where I got this 
* goody-goody stuff. ’ He said I used to be 
a.real sport; that I could be the most 
popular girl in the crowd, if I only wanted to 
behave.” 

“Behave? What did he mean by that?” 

“Behave as the rest of them do, I suppose. 
But I won’t! I won’t! I told him I didn’t 
care whether I was popular or not, only,” 
Patricia gulped, “of course I do care—ter¬ 
ribly. I’ve always been in the center of 
things, and it hurts to be left out.” 



PATRICIA ASKS ADVICE 13 

“Left out? Of what?” asked Mrs. Strick¬ 
land. 

“Oh, they planned three or four things 
right there, last night. I wasn’t included in 
a single one. Oh, I know how they work. 
I’ve seen them ostracize before. I’ve done 
it myself, in fact.”* 

“But Patricia, aren’t you better off out of 
these things? ” 

“Yes, I suppose I am. But most of those 
girls are in my set at school. They’ve always 
looked up to me. That’s why I don’t want 
to go back to Miss Brent’s. It’s—it’s bad 
enough being left out of the picnics and swim¬ 
ming parties out here in the country, but 
when I get back to town, and in school—Oh, 
Mother, what shall I do?” 

Mrs. Strickland opened her arms, and 
Patricia crept into them. They were silent 
for a long time. Finally, Mrs. Strickland 
spoke. 

“I’ll talk it over with your father,” she said. 

But Mrs. Strickland’s talk with her hus¬ 
band did not produce any startling results. 

“Not the girls we know! Surely they don’t 
do these things!” he protested. 

“Patricia says so.” 


14 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Mr. Strickland frowned. 

“Why don’t you go to Mrs. Howland and 
tell her what Patricia has just told you? ” 

“Why don’t you go to Robert Howland,” 
retorted Mrs. Strickland, “and tell him we 
will no longer allow Patricia to associate with 
Marion? ” 

Harvey Strickland bit his lip. 

“There must be other girls—nice girls—at 
Miss Brent’s.” 

“Marion Howland and the other girls who 
are Patricia’s friends are supposed to be the 
very ‘nicest’ girls at Miss Brent’s.” 

Mr. Strickland began to pace the floor, his 
hands in his pockets. Suddenly the look of 
concentration left his face, and he glanced at 
his wife. 

“This worry of yours has made me com¬ 
pletely forget. An unexpected tangle has 
come up in my work. I shall have to go to 
Europe,—be gone for the next six months 
perhaps. Naturally, I had expected you to 
go along. Patricia can go to school over 
there. She has always wished to do so.” 

Mrs. Strickland’s face cleared. 

But Patricia most unexpectedly balked at 
this. 


PATRICIA ASKS ADVICE 


15 


“I do want to spend a year in France, but 
not this year. I’ll finish the year at Miss 
Brent’s. I’ve grown away from the girls 
enough in one year. In two I’d be abso¬ 
lutely forgotten. I’d rather go to France 
next year.” 

“But I thought you wanted—” began her 
father. 

“No, Dad, I don’t want to run away. 
Please understand. This is my battle. I 
won’t run away, even if I am defeated.” 

“You’ll be most unhappy, especially if 
your father and I go to Europe.” 

“No matter,” reiterated Patricia. “I won’t 
run away.” 

“Where is Mary Taintor? What is she 
planning for this year?” 

“I don’t know.” Patricia’s face lighted 
for an instant. “I suppose I could board, 
if Mary were there. But she’s been here in 
the United States all summer. Likely she’ll 
be off somewhere this winter, especially after 
boarding at Miss Brent’s all last year.” The 
light died out of her face. 

“Then you think you want to stay at Miss 
Brent’s this year?” asked her father. 

“I’ve got to stay.” Patricia’s lips set in a 


16 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


firm line that made her mother think of 
Grandma Parsons. 

“Well, I’ll say your year in Westcott did 
considerable for you, Patricia! Would you 
like to go back there?” asked her father. 

“No, father, not this year.” Again Pa¬ 
tricia’s face lighted suddenly. “I know what 
I’ll do. I’ll write Grandma Parsons, and ask 
her advice. She seems to have a remedy for 
most of the mentionable ills of this world!” 


CHAPTER II 


Roberta’s picnic 

The next few days seemed interminable to 
Patricia. She did not hear from Grandma 
Parsons. More than once she was aware of 
automobiles filled with her various friends, 
speeding here and there on pleasure trips. 
But she held her head high and pretended she 
did not care. 

Only once was Patricia included in any of 
the gay doings. One afternoon, while she 
was trying to become interested in an un¬ 
interesting book, she was called to the tele¬ 
phone. 

“Oh, Patricia,” simpered a voice over the 
wire. “Four of us are going down to the 
beach on a picnic. Wouldn’t you like to 
come along?” 

There was silence for a minute, then Pa¬ 
tricia asked, “Who are the four, Isobel?” 

“Oh, Marion and Roberta Howland, Nancy 
Stevens, and myself.” 

“Bobby Howland!” Patricia was surprised 

out of her cool attitude. 

17 


18 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Roberta Howland was Marion’s younger 
sister, and well deserved the name of “ Bobby.” 

“Yes,” simpered Isobel, “she is going to 
start at Miss Brent’s this fall, and this is by 
way of a ‘rushing’ party for her. We want 
her in the Turk’s Head Club of course. No 
doubt she will come in, anyway, since Marion 
belongs, but—” 

“I thought,” interrupted Patricia, and her 
voice was cooler than ever, “that Miss Brent 
emphatically stated that no girl was to be 
rushed before the opening of school. I’m 
sure none of the other three clubs do it. I 
think Turk’s Head ought to stand on its honor 
as much as any of the other three.” 

“Oh, no one will know about this,” said 
Isobel. 

“I’m sorry,” said Patricia, and by now her 
voice was frigid; “I don’t believe I care to 
come to your picnic.” 

“Oh, please,” wailed Isobel. 

“Impossible!” 

“0 dear!” wailed Isobel again. “Bobby 
says she positively won’t come unless you do.” 

Patricia’s heart skipped a beat. 

“I should like very much to go on Bobby’s 
picnic; but if I do, not one word is to be said 


ROBERTA’S PICNIC 


19 


about Turk’s Head. And I want it clearly 
understood that this is not a rushing party.” 

The old, imperious Patricia was speaking. 

“All right,” agreed Isobel. “I don’t imag¬ 
ine: it is going to be very easy to rush Bobby, 
anyway.” 

“No,” agreed Patricia dryly, “I don’t 
imagine she will take to it very kindly.” 

A memory of Bobby with her impish smile 
and boyish, ungainly grace rose before Pa¬ 
tricia, a very vivid memory in which Bobby, 
flat on her face, was endeavoring to fish a two- 
thirds-drowned kitten out of a deep pool amid 
the rocks on the shore. 

“Silly little thing!” Bobby had said, smiling 
up at Patricia. “She thought she could 
swim! Wouldn’t you think a cat would have 
more sense than that?” 

“Whose kitten is it?” Patricia had asked. 

“Goodness! I don’t know. Just an old 
barn cat, I suppose.” Bobby had arisen, 
holding the dripping, meowing kitten by the 
scruff of its neck. “Homely little thing, 
isn’t it?” 

“It’s not very beautiful,” Patricia had 
agreed. 

Bobby had given the kitten a shake. 


20 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I always did hate cats,” she had said. 
“Silly little things! Now, if this had been a 
dog, he’d never have fallen in, or if he had, 
he’d have had sense enough to get out again, 
some way. I even have to shake this. Any 
dog would do that without being told.” 

“What are you going to do with it, now 
that you’ve saved it?” Patricia had asked. 

Bobby had looked at the older girl with a 
sheepish grin. 

“Oh, I suppose I’ll have to add it to the 
menagerie.” 

It was a well-known fact among the younger 
folks of that Long Island summer colony that 
Bobby Howland was always picking up stray 
creatures, and caring for them. Her “menag¬ 
erie” had contained at various times, besides 
the usual number of dogs and cats, a monkey, 
a goat, three hens, two ducks, and, though 
for an extremely short period, a sea-gull with 
a trailing wing. 

And now Bobby Howland was going to 
Miss Brent’s. Patricia half smiled and half 
sighed. The winter ahead was going to be any¬ 
thing but clear sailing forBobbyand for herself. 

, The picnic started off gayly enough. Marion 
drove her roadster, much to Bobby’s disgust. 


ROBERTA’S PICNIC 


“You drive a car like a shoemaker,” she 
protested. “Now if you’d let me take the 
wheel—” 

“When you acquire a little sense,” Marion 
retorted, “perhaps Dad will let you have a 
car of your own.” 

“Perhaps,” answered Bobby ruefully, “but 
I doubt it.” 

“So do I!” snapped Marion. 

Bobby turned around to speak to the three 
girls in the rear seat. 

“Sometimes,” she said, “I think I must 
have been adopted into the Howland family.” 

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Roberta,” said 
Marion sharply. 

Bobby looked at her sister. When Marion 
used the name Roberta, it was always a sign 
of anger on the older girl’s part. Bobby sub¬ 
sided with a sigh. 

“At least, I should have been a boy.” 

For a few minutes there was silence. Then 
Bobby sat up quite suddenly. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“To Benson’s Cove,” replied Marion. 

“To Benson’s Cove!” ejaculated Bobby. 
“Why Benson’s Cove? I thought we were 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


n 

going on down toward the Point. It’s much 
nicer out that way.” 

4 'Benson’s Cove is much nearer town,” 
said Marion with a superior smile. 

“I can’t see what difference that makes!” 
protested Bobby. 

“You will!” Marion threw a fleeting smile 
to the girls in the rear seat. Isobel giggled, 
Nancy wriggled, but Patricia sat up very 
straight. 

What was Marion up to now? There was 
something in the air. What could it be? 

However, Marion drove the car straight to 
the Cove, down on to the beach, and stopped. 
Bobby was the first one out, the others follow¬ 
ing leisurely. 

“Hurrah!” shouted Bobby. “I’m going 
for a swim.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you’re 
not!” 

“But I am. I even brought a bathing-suit 
for you.” 

“You needn’t have bothered,” said Marion. 
“I have no intention of going in. In the first 
place, there are no bath-houses here.” 

“Why, Marion, of course there are. Benson 
has a whole string of them.” 


ROBERTA’S PICNIC 


23 


“Benson!” sneered Marion. “Those dirty 
little cubby-holes! No one ever goes swim¬ 
ming at Benson’s. Why, I—” 

“Well,” interrupted Bobby hotly, “just 
because you and your crowd don’t approve of 
Benson’s, that’s no sign there’s anything 
wrong with it. Those cubby-holes are as 
clean as soap and water and a scrub-brush 
can make them. Perhaps there aren’t half a 
dozen showers, tile floors, silk tents for the 
beach, or any of the fixings, but just the same 
it’s clean and all right. I go there—lots of 
times,” she threw in for good measure. 

Marion gave her sister a disgusted look, 
but said no more. 

“Let’s eat first, anyway,” giggled Isobel. 

“But we shouldn’t swim directly after 
eating,” protested Patricia. 

“I have no intention of swimming, either 
before or after eating,” said Marion crossly. 

“And it’s much too early for lunch!” pro¬ 
tested Bobby. 

“Not for us!” Again Marion looked mean¬ 
ingly at the other two girls, and again Isobel 
giggled, joined this time by Nancy Stevens. 

Bobby swung quickly to face her sister. 

“What are you up to now?” she asked. 




24 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Well, since you must know, we are going 
on into town.” 

“Into town!” ejaculated Bobby. “What¬ 
ever for?” 

Patricia was as startled as Bobby, but she 
said nothing. She was half prepared for some 
such maneuver. 

“We’re going in for tea,” said Marion 
airily, although her cheeks were flushed. 

“My gracious!” ejaculated Bobby. “You’ll 
never make it.” 

“Oh, yes, we will,” said Marion, still airily. 
“It’s only two and a half hours’ run.” 

“Yes, if you drive like the wind. And 
you’ll certainly be late for dinner.” 

“Oh, I have plenty of excuses for that,” 
said Marion haughtily. 

“All right, go on and go,” said Bobby. 
“I’m going to stay here.” 

“I’ll stay with Bobby,” gulped Patricia. 

“Oh, very well!” said Marion. 

“That suits Marion,” snickered Isobel. 
“We’re going to meet Roy Walker, and some 
of the others. Marion would just as soon 
leave you behind, Patricia.” 

Patricia tossed her head. Her cheeks were 
flaming. 


ROBERTA’S PICNIC 


25 


“Why wasn’t I told of these plans?” she 
demanded furiously. 

“Yes,” Bobby chimed in. “I thought this 
was to be my picnic.” 

Marion turned on her younger sister. 

“It was planned as a picnic for you, but 
Miss Strickland objected. Then these other 
plans came up. I didn’t tell you, Bobby, 
because you’d go tattle; and I didn’t tell Pa¬ 
tricia because—” 

“That’s not fair,” cut in Bobby hotly. 
“I’ve never tattled on you in my life!” 

“Well,” admitted Marion reluctantly, “you 
wouldn’t say anything, but you wouldn’t go, 
and Mother would want to know why, and it 
would be rather difficult to explain.” 

“Yes, I should imagine it would be rather 
difficult.” 

“Well,” Marion tossed her head, “Mother 
treats me like a baby. I’m old enough to go 
where and with whom I please. If she objects, 
that’s her fault. Besides, I promised Roy—” 

“Come on, Bobby,” Patricia broke in 
quickly. “I’ll use that extra suit and go 
swimming with you. They can leave our share 
of the lunch. We’ll eat when we come back.” 

A new consideration struck Bobby. 



26 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“How are we going to get home, Patricia 
and I?” 

“Oh, you can wait for us!” 

Marion’s voice was furious as she turned to 
the car to get out the hamper. Isobel and 
Nancy snickered in chorus. 

Bobby turned to Patricia, a comical look 
on her face. 

“Like to hike?” she asked. 

“Love it,” said Patricia, “but let’s swim 
first.” 

“I think,” said Bobby loudly, as she and 
Patricia started down the beach, “I think 
they ought to leave all the lunch for us. 
We’ll be starved, and they won’t need it if 
they’re going to have tea.” 

Patricia’s heart was sore, but she kept a 
brave face. And somehow, as soon as she 
was out of sight and hearing of the other three 
girls, she did begin to enjoy herself. Bobby 
kept up a continual chatter. It was plain 
that the younger girl was delighted with the 
turn affairs had taken. 

Although Roberta had never admitted it, 
even to herself, Patricia Strickland was her 
ideal. And to have a whole afternoon alone 
with her was nothing less than perfection. 


ROBERTA’S PICNIC 


27 


The cubby-holes were, as Roberta had said, 
immaculate. The suit which Patricia donned 
was not a particularly good fit; but the beach 
was splendid, the surf not too high, and al¬ 
together they had a most enjoyable swim 
despite the chill in the air. 

Ravenous, they rushed back to the picnic 
spot. Plenty of lunch had been left for them, 
and they made quick work of the delicious 
fried chicken, sandwiches, and dainty little 
cakes. 

The tramp home in the autumn sunlight 
was anything but a hardship. 

“There are times,” Bobby said as she 
finally parted from Patricia, 44 there are times 
when I’m glad I haven’t a car.” 

Patricia ran into the house, still exhilarated 
from her strenuous afternoon. And the first 
thing she found awaiting her was a letter from 
Grandma Parsons. 


CHAPTER III 


Joyce decides 

When Grandma Parsons reeived Patricia’s 
letter, she sat down abruptly in the big 
rocking-chair. Was all her good work to go 
for nothing? Patricia’s letter didn’t sound 
like it. What was this she said? 

“We had just as good times out there in 
Westcott as anybody could have, Joyce and 
Ray and myself, all of us, and we didn’t do 
the things the girls here find it necessary to 
do. Of course, Raoul is here in town, and I 
am planning to see him this winter. He has 
been out here only once. He is extremely 
busy just now, Dad says. But what’s bother¬ 
ing me now is school. I won’t smoke and 
flirt and lie, so I am left out of things. And 
though I won’t admit it to Mother and Dad, 
it does hurt to be left out. Don’t misunder¬ 
stand, Grandma Parsons. These girls all 
belong to my set. They are what Westcott 
people call 'nice girls.’ What shall I do?” 

Grandma Parsons let the sheet fall to her 

lap. All well and good to be able to direct 

Patricia’s destiny here in the small town of 

28 


JOYCE DECIDES 


29 


Westcott, but New York was a different 
proposition entirely. Grandma Parsons 
sighed. Her hands were tied. And yet— 
were they? She sat up energetically. 

“Every riddle has an answer,” she said 
aloud to the empty room. “I’ve solved a 
good many in my day, and I’m not too old 
to solve this one.” Her lips set in a grim 
line. 

“Who’s talking about riddles?” Joyce 
rushed in, letting the screen door bang behind 
her, as usual. 

“Joyce!” Grandma Parsons smiled at her. 
“How’s school?” 

Joyce slumped into a chair, sprawling in 
an ungainly attitude. 

“Oh, it’s just terrible. You’ve no idea how 
terrible it is without Patricia and Ray.” 

“But Ray wasn’t in school,” protested 
Grandma Parsons. 

“I know, but I always knew he was about. 
Bobbie expressed my feelings exactly this 
morning.” 

“What did he say?” The corners of 
Grandma Parson’s lips twitched. 

“He said he wished every old schoolhouse 
in the whole world would burn down some 


30 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


night; then he wouldn’t have to go to school 
any more.” 

Grandma Parsons laughed merrily. 

“ Rather drastic measures, but it would 
solve Bobbie’s problems for the time being, 
anyway. Perhaps I’d better get his advice 
on this letter.” 

“What letter? From Patricia? Oh, may 
I read it?” 

“I’ll read it to you, parts of it, anyway,” 
corrected Grandma Parsons gently. 

But when she once started to read the 
letter, she became so interested again, that, 
before she knew it, she had read Joyce the 
greater part of it. Before she had finished, 
Joyce was sitting up straight, her cheeks 
flushed, her hands clenched. 

“I’d do something,” she interrupted, “I’d 
show them. I’d fight. I’d do something.” 

“All very well and good,” Grandma Par¬ 
sons pulled her spectacles down and looked 
at Joyce over the top of them, “but just what 
would you do?” 

“I’d start a club of my own. I’d show 
them.” 

“But how could you start a club when all 
your friends refused to belong?” 


JOYCE DECIDES 


31 


“ Ray’s there.” 

“But Ray isn’t a girl; he doesn’t go to 
school, and altogether he isn’t much of a 
help,” explained Grandma Parsons gently. 

“Well, I’d find somebody. I’d go out into 
the highways and byways and pick them 
up,” said Joyce fiercely. 

“From what I know of Miss Brent’s school 
that would scarcely be successful.” 

“But there must be some one! Patricia’s 
such a peach! I wish I were there. I’d tell 
them a thing or two.” 

Grandma Parsons looked at Joyce startled. 

“There’s an idea!” 

“Where? What?” Joyce was surprised out 
of her fierce mood. 

“Never mind,” Grandma smiled mysteri¬ 
ously. “I’ll let you know later.” 

In spite of all her coaxing, Joyce could get 
no further enlightenment, and finally went 
home, a very much bewildered girl. 

Grandma Parsons was indeed busy for the 
next day or two, sending telegrams, making 
calls, and all the time going around with a 
most mysterious smile on her face. 

Two days later Joyce came home from 
school, dropped her books on the table, and 


32 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


flung herself rather despondently on the worn 
leather couch. 

“O dear!” she sighed. “My senior year! 
I thought it was going to be such fun, and 
instead it’s going to be just terrible.” 

“What’s the trouble?” asked her mother, 
who was in her customary place by the window, 
darning stockings for the boys. 

“Oh, everything! We thought Leile Grey 
would be president, and she isn’t even going 
to be here. Jimmy Foster has dropped out. 
He flunked in two subjects last year, and 
isn’t going to finish at all. The class has 
just gone all to pieces; and I miss Patricia 
much more than I had any idea I should, and 
Ray even more than I thought possible. I 
just hate to think of the whole year. Even 
Irma spends all her time running around with 
with Celia Laurence.” 

Mrs. Hunter, usually so sympathetic to any 
of her children’s woes, only smiled to her¬ 
self. 

“There are still Timmie and Bobbie.” 

“And Bingo,” added Joyce. “It’s too 
funny to see Bobbie and Bingo in the school- 
yard. Did you hear what happened to them 
yesterday?” 


JOYCE DECIDES 


33 


“No. Now what?” asked Mrs. Hunter 
with a resigned sigh. 

Joyce sat up with a little giggle. 

“I was looking out of the cloak-room win¬ 
dow. I had a few minutes between classes. 
Y r ou know you can see right into the grade- 
school yard from there. It was just recess 
time. Bingo seems to have an instinct that 
tells him just when recess is, because he 
always comes trotting solemnly along just as 
the children come out; then when they go 
in again, he trots back home.” 

“I never knew that,” said Mrs. Hunter. 
“What was Bobbie up to?” 

“Bobbie was tossing his new cap up in the 
air over something. I don’t know what it 
was he felt so good about, but that was the 
way he was expressing it.” 

“He shouldn’t do that with his new cap,” 
said Mrs. Hunter reprovingly. 

“Bobbie is terribly careless with his 
clothes,” said Joyce, a twinkle in her eyes, 
then hurried on with her story before her 
mother could protest. “Well, Bobbie kept 
on throwing his cap in the air, but once when 
it came down, he failed to catch it. Of course 
Bingo was right at his heels and grabbed it. 


34 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Bobbie started after Bingo. Bingo thought 
it was a good game and chased madly all over 
the school yard, Bobbie after him. Just at 
that moment the bell rang that ends recess. 
Poor Bobbie! He’d run a few steps toward 
the line going in, and then a few steps after 
Bingo. You can imagine what joy that was 
for Bingo. If Bobbie had only had sense 
enough to go and get in line, Bingo would have 
followed, cap and all. The line was rapidly 
disappearing, and poor Bobbie was still run¬ 
ning in circles, undecided which way to go. 
I was doubled over with laughter, but had 
just about decided to go out and rescue him, 
when I saw Timmie break away from his line, 
run up to Bingo, grab the cap, fling it at 
Bobbie, and then kick at Bingo.” 

Mrs. Hunter frowned. 

“Timmie must learn to control his temper.” 

“Well, I really didn’t blame Timmie. He 
knew he’d get a black mark for coming in 
late, thanks to Bobbie and Bingo. And be¬ 
sides,” Joyce smiled to herself, “he didn’t 
touch Bingo, just kicked in his general direc¬ 
tion. But Bingo tucked his tail between his 
legs and galloped for home. His day was 


JOYCE DECIDES 


35 


entirely spoiled. Timmie is so rarely cross 
at him.” 

At that moment Bobbie came dashing in. 

“Are you, Joyce? Are you?” 

“ Am I what, Bobbie? Do use some sense.” 

“Are you going away?” 

“Away?” Joyce frowned. “No. Where?” 

“I don’t know. Grandma Parsons said so. 
She said I’d better be nice to you. You’d 
be leaving next week.” 

Joyce turned to her mother. 

“What ails him?” she asked. 

Her mother was smiling mysteriously. 

“Why don’t you go ask Grandma Parsons 
what she’s been telling Bobbie?” 

Still mystified, Joyce wandered slowly 
across the yard towards the Parsons’ house. 
Autumn colors were flaming around her, 
crimson and gold. It was just a year ago 
that Patricia had come to W'estcott. What 
an exciting year it had been! Joyce sighed, 
as she thought of it. Well, this coming year 
was certainly going to be a dull one,—no 
Raoul, no Patricia. 

It was a subdued girl that greeted Grandma 
Parsons. 

“Hello, Grandma. Bobbie just came 


36 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


rushing in, saying that you told him I was 
going away. I think the child has lost what 
little sense he had.” 

“Why, Joyce!” protested Grandma Parsons 
indignantly. “How can you talk so about 
Bobbie?” 

“Oh, I realize that he is a great favorite 
with you and Mother, but—” Joyce began 
to tease. 

“Besides,” interrupted Grandma Parsons, 
“I did tell him that!” 

“You did!” Joyce was amazed. 

“I told him to go ask you about it. I 
thought that would bring you over.” 
Grandma’s eyes twinkled merrily. 

Joyce looked at her speechless for a minute. 

“Grandma Parsons! Have you lost your 
mind? I’m not going away!” 

“Oh, yes, you are.” Grandma’s smiled 
broadened . 7 “It’s all settled.” 

Joyce sank limply to a chair and stared at 
her. 

“Who? Where? What?” 

Grandma Parsons laughed outright at the 
blank expression on Joyce’s face. 

“It’s your own fault. You said you 
wished you were at school with Patricia.” 


JOYCE DECIDES 


37 


“I did? When?” Joyce was completely 
bewildered. 

“You said you’d help her fight her battle.” 

“I would, of course,” said loyal Joyce. 

“Well, you’re going to!” 

“I am! No! Grandma Parsons! In New 
Y r ork? Oh, it’s too good to be true!” 

Joyce’s voice was elated, but she was still 
too dazed to believe her good fortune. 

“But it is true,” Grandma assured her. 

“But, Grandma Parsons, the money? And 
Mother and Dad—?” 

“Your mother and father have Irma, 
Timmie, and Bobbie.” 

“And Bingo,” added Joyce, whimsically. 

“To say nothing of Grandfather Parsons 
and myself. As to the money, a Joyce 
scholarship has been established, never mind 
by whom, as a reward for certain assistance 
given by her last winter—” 

“Grandma Parsons, I didn’t do a thing!” 

“Don’t interrupt. It is very rude in 
young girls. This scholarship will take care 
of all travelling and school expenses, but not 
clothes.” 

“Who cares?” Joyce jumped to her feet, 
grabbed Grandma Parsons around the waist, 



38 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


and started a mad dance. “I’ve my new 
blue serge, and my last winter’s coat, to say 
nothing of the little tan silk. Who cares for 
clothes, anyway? I’m going to see Ray and 
Patricia.” 

“Joyce! Joyce!" panted Grandma Parsons. 
“Stop it!” 

Joyce gave her an extra hug before she let 
her go. 

“It’s all your doings, Grandma. I don’t 
see how you ever managed Mother and Dad.” 

“I don’t quite see, myself,” said Grandma 
Parsons, a bit severely, “but the point is, 
I did manage them. Now, shall I write 
Patricia or will you?” 

Joyce hesitated a minute. It would be a 
real thrill to have that news to write, but, no 
doubt, Grandma Parsons would enjoy doing 
it, too. 

“You do it,” said Joyce, finally. “I’ve a 
million things to attend to.” 

Singing gayly, she dashed from the house, 
like a young whirlwind, slamming doors 
carelessly behind her. 


CHAPTER r IV 


ray’s visit 

Patricia let Grandma Parsons’ letter drop 
slowly from her hand. Joyce was coming to 
Miss Brent’s school! Joyce! Patricia sighed. 
Joyce was a dear, and Patricia was fond of 
her, but wouldn’t her presence at Miss Brent’s 
complicate the situation rather than ease it? 
And yet, she was glad, for Joyce, and for Ray. 

Still pondering, Patricia went to her room 
to rest, bathe, and dress for dinner. Dinner 
in the country was quite frequently informal, 
but her father had said he was bringing out 
two guests. Moreover, this was the week¬ 
end, and almost any one might drop in for the 
evening. 

While Patricia was resting, a book in hand, 
her mother came in smiling. 

“ I see you had a letter from Grandma 
Parsons,” she said. 

“Yes,” answered Patricia, in a non-com¬ 
mittal way. 

“What do you think of her plan?” asked 
Mrs. Strickland. 


39 


40 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Oh! Then you know of it?” said Patricia 
slowly. 

“Grandma Parsons has wired us a number 
of times, asking advice.” 

“It will be nice for Joyce,” said Patricia. 

“And for you,” added her mother. “Your 
father and I will have to leave for England 
some time before Christmas. We shall want 
you at home for a while; after that you are to 
go to Miss Brent’s to board. Joyce will be 
your room-mate.” 

Patricia looked very thoughtful. 

“I don’t know, Mother. I honestly don’t 
know whether Joyce will be happy at Miss 
Brent’s or not.” 

“Joyce is a real person,” said Mrs. Strick¬ 
land. “She will get along anywhere, and 
I’m sure she will make many friends.” 

“Yes, Joyce is a dear, and I’m very fond of 
her,” said Patricia, “but the girls there can 
be so horrid, and they won’t understand or 
appreciate Joyce. I didn’t at first, myself.” 

Patricia flushed rather uncomfortably. 

Mrs. Strickland considered. 

“I feel sure,” she said finally, “that Joyce 
will come out all right. She may have some 
lessons to learn, but she is the kind of girl who 


RAY’S VISIT 


41 


eventually wins her way, anywhere. I think 
you will find, in the long run, that Grandma 
Parsons’ advice is sound—as usual.” 

“I hope so,” said Patricia. 

She was still feeling a little doubtful in her 
own heart when she descended to dinner. The 
dining-room looked so restful and lovely, with 
the tall candles lighted and the flowers and 
silver so beautifully arranged. Patricia was 
glad just then that even the formal dinners 
out here in the country were really not formal 
at all. 

“How many for dinner to-night, Gaiter?” 
she asked the butler. 

“Only six, Miss.” 

“Including ourselves?” Patricia was sur¬ 
prised. Saturday night, guests were frequent. 

“Yes, Miss Patricia. Your father came in 
a while back with Mr. Burton and Mr. Gail. 
I didn’t know the young gentleman.” 

“Young gentleman?” Patricia frowned. 
“Oh, well, no matter!” 

She wandered out into the garden. In spite 
of the lateness of the season, the garden was 
beautiful. A few hollyhocks still stood, stiff 
and straight; all the fall flowers were abloom, 
asters and dahlias. Patricia wandered about, 


42 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


touched by the lovely peace of the place, 
bending to a flower here and there. There 
was to be a dance at the Howlands’ that 
evening, and Patricia was still undecided 
whether or not she would go. 

“Just a few of Marion’s friends, in for the 
evening,” Mrs. Howland had said to Mrs. 
Strickland that morning over the telephone. 
“Of course we’ll expect Patricia and any of 
your guests that care to come.” 

“I shall tell Patricia,” Mrs. Strickland had 
answered graciously, but in her heart she 
wondered whether or not Patricia would go. 

Patricia was still struggling with the ques¬ 
tion herself when she heard footsteps behind 
her. She turned slowly, a veritable picture 
there in the lovely autumn garden, her tawny 
hair enhanced by the silver sheen of her 
dinner-gown. 

“Why, Ray!” she cried in joyous welcome. 
“What a surprise!” 

“I’m glad to see you, Patricia!” 

“You seem to have grown a foot since you 
came to New York,” said Patricia with a little 
smile. 

Indeed, Raoul did look taller, older, some- 


RAY’S VISIT 


43 


thing subtle in his dress and manner giving 
him a dignity new to his boyishness. 

My goodness! ’ ’ Ray smiled his big whole¬ 
some smile. “I had to expand in some way 
to match the city.” 

“You were the one Gaiter meant!” 

“Gaiter?” said Ray, with a frown. 

“The butler. I asked him how many were 
in for dinner, and he spoke of a young gentle¬ 
man.” 

“Patricia,” said Raoul earnestly, “my 
knees are absolutely knocking together. Do 
I have to eat dinner under the observant eyes 
of a butler? I’ll be scared to death.” 

Patricia laughed gayly. 

“Gaiter’s an old dear. He’s been in the 
family for years. You needn’t be a bit afraid 
of him. He’ll take awfully good care of you.” 

“Too good,” said Ray, in a mock-mournful 
voice. 

“Well, of course, you can have your meal 
in the nursery if you prefer,” Patricia giggled. 

“I feel as though that is where I belong,” 
said Ray as they turned back toward the 
house. 

But the meal went off without any mishap, 
despite Raoul’s misgivings. He and Patricia 


44 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


had many things to chat about on the side; 
and Mr. Gail was one of the head men of the 
company for which Raoul worked. He asked 
a great many questions, and Raoul answered 
them in his straightforward manner, although 
more than once he was forced to admit, “I 
really don’t know, sir. I still have a great 
deal to learn about my job, and the city, too.” 

“Well,” Mrs. Strickland asked Patricia as 
as they rose from the table, “do you think 
you will go over to the Howlands’ this even- 

• o 9 * 

mgr 

Patricia turned to Raoul. 

“What do you think? Would you care to 
go?” 

“What is it?” asked Raoul. “Just one of 
the neighbors?” 

Patricia smiled. 

“Yes,” she said, “just one of the neighbors. 
Marion Howland is having a few in for the 
evening. I think perhaps they’ll dance.” 

“Why, yes,” said Raoul, “I’d like to go.” 

The Howlands had a beautiful home. One 
of its special attractions was the outdoor 
dancing pavilion. There were several girls 
in light dresses, young men in informal even¬ 
ing wear. 


RAY’S VISIT 


45 


“Oh,'’ gasped Ray, looking down at his 
plain suit. “I thought this was just a few of 
the neighbors.” 

“That’s all it is,” Patricia laughed. “Really 
there aren’t as many there as you might 
think.” 

“Looks like about a million to me,” said 
Raoul. 

Patricia was acclaimed by several of the 
young people, for, despite her disagreement 
with her own particular friends, she was still 
a general favorite, and much of a leader. 
Ray, too, was surrounded, and though slightly 
ill at ease, his big cheery smile soon drew many 
glances to himself. 

It was while he was dancing with Marion 
Howland that Roy Walker cut in on him. 
Patricia, standing at one side of the room, 
chatting with two or three other girls, noticed 
this, noticed that Ray was discomfited, ill at 
ease; noticed, too, Roy Walker’s ease of man¬ 
ner, the perfection of his clothes, and the hint 
of a sneer in his smile as he bent to say some¬ 
thing to Marion. Furious, Patricia turned 
and walked out into the chill of the evening. 
Why did Raoul need to show up so poorly? 
He was really splendid. But he did look 


46 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


gawky beside Roy Walker. Patricia stamped 
her foot. She detested Roy Walker, and yet 
she could not force herself to go to Ray and 
put him at his ease. 

She was standing there quietly, gazing up 
into the starry sky, when she heard a faint 
cry. On the Howland estate there was a 
natural lake. This lake was not very large. 
Patricia had swum across it many times, but 
in some spots it was very deep. The cry 
seemed to come from that direction, and it 
was a cry of distress. Patricia hesitated. 
Should she run down and see what had hap¬ 
pened, or should she take time to summon 
some of the others? Just then there was a 
lull in the music behind her, and again that 
call for help could be heard. It was still faint, 
but unmistakably from the direction of the 
lake. Patricia stepped back into the pavilion. 

“Oh, Marion,” she called, her voice raised 
a trifle in excitement. 

Marion paused and looked cooly over her 
shoulder at Patricia. Roy Walker, too, looked 
at Patricia rather eagerly. Several others 
had stopped talking and glanced her way; 
Raoul alone sensed something wrong and 
started in her direction. 


RAY’S VISIT 


47 


“Well?” asked Marion, raising her eye¬ 
brows. 

“There is some trouble out here—-on the 
lake. I hear some one calling.” 

Marion looked at Roy Walker. He 
shrugged his shoulders as he said distinctly: 
“Want me to play the little Boy Hero? 
Shall I go rescue this supposed damsel in 
distress?” 

Marion giggled and turned away. But Ray 
Hunter, followed by several others, both boys 
and girls, had reached Patricia’s side. To¬ 
gether they raced across the lawn in the 
direction of the lake. The calls were grow¬ 
ing louder now, more insistent. Decidedly 
they were calls of distress. 

“Help! Help! I’m drowning!” 

“That sounds like Bobby,” gasped Patricia 
as she ran. 

“Who? ” asked Ray. “Marion’s brother?” 

“No—her sister.” 

Undoubtedly the cries were from the lake, 
seemingly the middle of it. Without hesita¬ 
tion, Ray pulled off his shoes and coat and 
plunged into the icy water. Word had gone 
round that Bobby Howland was out in the 
middle of the lake, drowning. Two or three 


48 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


of the boys went in search of a boat and 
possible light. 

Marion came running up to Patricia, fol¬ 
lowed by Roy Walker. 

“Is it—is it Bobby?” she gasped. 

“It sounds like her,” said Patricia. 
“Listen.” 

Very faintly now came that “Help! Help!” 

“There’s something queer about it,” volun¬ 
teered Roy Walker, but Marion was too 
frightened to listen to him. 

“Oh, go after her, go after her!” she begged 
him. 

“I—I don’t swim very well,” he protested. 

“Ray is already out there,” said Patricia 
proudly. 

“Who?” asked Roy Walker. “Oh!” 
Then, turning to Marion, he asked, “Where 
are the boats?” 

Marion was wringing her hands now. 

“Oh, they’ve been put up for the winter. 
We’re going in town soon. Bobby! Oh, 
Bobby!” 

“Help!” came the answer, surprisingly 
strong and clear. 

“It is Bobby. She’s out there!” Marion 
was almost frantic. 


RAY’S VISIT 


49 


“ Keep still a minute,” commanded Patricia. 
Then, raising her voice, “Raoul! Oh, Raoul!” 

“Yes,” came Ray’s voice in answer. 

“Can you find her?” 

“No!” answered Ray. 

Without another word, Patricia kicked off 
her own dancing-slippers and plunged into 
the lake. Roy Walker, aghast, tried to stop 
her. He waded in to his arm-pits, but Pa¬ 
tricia, with her splendid stroke, was soon in 
deep water. Bedraggled, shivering, Roy re¬ 
turned to Marion. 

The group was silent now, listening for that 
cry of help. It could no longer be heard. 
And then, into the midst of the gathering 
strolled Bobby Howland! 

“Bobby!” gasped Marion. “Then it 
wasn’t you!” 

Bobby smiled mischievously. 

“But it was!” 

“Why,” chorused several; “why, it couldn’t 
have been. You’re not even wet.” 

“Marion,” giggled Bobby, “I just learned 
a new trick to-day from Herman. I’ve dis¬ 
covered I’m really quite a ventriloquist.” 

“Bobby Howland! !” exclaimed several 


voices. 


50 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


/‘And I thought I would test it out to¬ 
night,” continued Bobby gayly,” since I was 
not allowed at the dance. A bit of diversion 
for me, as it were.” 

“Do you realize,” said Marion severely, 
“that Patricia Strickland is out there, in her 
evening-gown, searching for you?” 

Bobby’s eyes grew large, her voice serious. 

“No, oh, no!” 

“Yes, oh, yes,” mimicked Roy Walker 
through chattering teeth. 

Bobby pushed Marion aside. 

“Patricia!” she cried wildly. “Patricia! 
Come back!” 

There was no answer, only Raoul’s voice, 
coming out of the darkness. “Coming!” 

Then suddenly a new cry, in Patricia’s 
voice, agonized, terrified. 

“Ray! Oh, Ray! Help!” 

“What’s wrong, Patricia? Answer me!” 

“I’m so cold! Oh, help!” 

With frantic strokes Ray raced for Patricia. 
Fortunately, he was near her, could see her 
bronze head in the dim starlight. And there 
was need for quick action. Patricia, warm 
from dancing, had contracted a sudden chill 
in the icy water and was barely able to keep 


RAY’S VISIT 


51 


afloat. Two or three other boys started to 
swim to her, but Ray was nearest. Luckily 
they were not far from shore, and in a few 
minutes Raoul was striding up the beach, 
carrying a limp and shivering Patricia. 

Even in her misery, Patricia again noticed 
Raoul and Roy Walker; Ray, though wet, 
was upstanding, splendid, doing a man’s 
work, while Roy Walker, shivering, bedrag¬ 
gled, looked what he really was. Patricia 
closed her eyes suddenly as another chill 
shook her. 

“Quick,” ordered Ray; “lead me to the 
house. Get blankets, hot water—call Mrs. 
Howland, and a doctor—” 

He strode across the lawn, carrying Patricia. 

“Who was that?” gasped Bobby Hunter. 

“A friend of Patricia’s, Raoul Hunter,” 
some one told her. 

“Oh,” wailed Bobby; “and to think I might 
have been in Patricia’s place. It’s worth 
getting drowned for!” 


CHAPTER V 


THE FIRST DAY 

Patricia’s chill had a prolonged effect. 
The Stricklands moved hurriedly back to 
town the following Monday, and for the next 
three weeks Patricia was ill with a congestion 
which threatened at any minute to become 
severe pneumonia. 

Meanwhile, Joyce arrived gayly in New 
York. 

She had left home with many misgivings. 
It is possible, had she not known that she 
would see Ray in New York, that she might 
even have weakened at the last minute. 

“Mother, are you sure you’ll be all right? 
Dad, I’ll miss you so dreadfully! Bobbie and 
Timmie, kiss me aga*in. And take good care 
of Bingo!” 

Thus Joyce on the steps of the train talked 
fast and furiously, lest she weep. And, once 
settled in her berth, alone, it must be admitted 
that the tears did come. But not for long! 
Joyce was soon asleep! 

The next morning, early, she was in the 

52 


THE FIRST DAY 


53 


hustle and confusion of Chicago. There was 
the excitement of changing from one depot 
to another, the hurried ride across town in a 
bus, the new depot, the crowds, the thrill of 
finding her right train, and the right place in 
that train. It was Joyce’s first experience of 
being all alone in a big city, and she was 
having a thrilling time of it. Then another 
half day while the train sped through lovely 
autumn country, another night, and then 
she was in the Grand Central Station, eagerly 
scanning the crowd for a sight of Raoul’s face! 

When she did see Ray, she hardly recognized 
him for a minute. He had changed subtly, 
grown older, more mature. 

“Why, Ray,” she said, as she rushed to 
meet him, “whatever has happened to you?” 

“To me?” asked Ray in surprise. “Why, 
nothing happened to me. It was Patricia!” 

“Patricia!” Joyce stopped short and looked 
at him in alarm. “Was she hurt? Is she 
sick? What’s the matter?” 

“Yes, she’s still ill. That’s why I had to 
meet you alone.” Ray explained hastily 
what had happened at the Howlands’. “So 
you’ll have to go straight out to school. Mrs. 
Strickland was terribly sorry. She had planned 


54 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


to have you come to the house for a few 
days, but the doctor has ordered absolute 
quiet for Patricia. And we are all afraid that 
the excitement of having you there, even in 
the house, would be bad for Patricia. You 
don’t mind, do you, Joy?” 

“No,” answered Joyce, slowly, though her 
knees almost shook. “I—I guess I’ll get 
along all right.” 

“I think you will, too,” said Ray, heartily. 

Joyce’s heart sank when Ray left her, and 
she turned to enter Miss Brent’s school alone. 
A smartly-dressed maid answered herring. She 
looked Joyce over critically, and then presented 
a tray. Joyce looked at the tray blankly. 

“X—I’m Joyce Hunter,” she gasped. “I’m 
coming to school here. Didn’t Mrs. Strick¬ 
land tell you?” 

At the mention of Mrs. Strickland’s name, 
the expression on the maid’s face changed. 

“Come this way, please!” 

Joyce followed, clutching her brand-new 
suit-case and feeling most uncomfortable. 
In the hall she passed two girls. Joyce smiled 
rather uncertainly, trying to be friendly. The 
girls returned the smile with a surprised stare. 

“Q dear!” thought Joyce. “I do wish—” 



A SMARTLY-DKESSED MAID ANSWERED HER RING .—Page 5^ 

































THE FIRST DAY 


55 


But before she knew what it was she wished, 
she was standing before a large desk, gazing 
straight into the eyes of Miss Brent. Miss 
Brent was a tall, very dignified woman with 
white hair. 

“So this is Joyce Hunter!” Miss Brent 
smiled as she spoke. 

“Yes’m.” Joyce could not remember that 
she had ever felt so shaky. 

“Won’t you be seated?” asked Miss Brent. 

“I—I’d rather stand,” gulped Joyce. 

Miss Brent arose, nodded to the waiting 
maid to leave, took Joyce by the hand, and 
led her to a small settee near by. 

“Now,” she seated herself and drew Joyce 
down beside her, “we are going to have a 
little chat, you and I. Mrs. Strickland has 
told me all about you. She was most regret¬ 
ful that she could not come here with you 
to-day, but I believe that Patricia had rather 
a bad night.” 

“Oh, no!” said Joyce. 

“Nothing about which to be alarmed, I 
understand; but, as you know, Mrs. Strickland 
is a devoted mother. She has asked me to 
make you happy and comfortable. We both 
realize that you will be a bit strange at first 


56 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


among all these new girls. Now, if you wish, 
I will take you out and introduce you person¬ 
ally to some of these girls; but I feel that 
perhaps it will be wiser and better for you to 
form your own contacts, choose your own 
friends. However, it shall be as you wish.” 

Again she looked down at Joyce with one 
of her rare, charming smiles. 

Joyce’s heart had ceased fluttering pain¬ 
fully. She looked up at Miss Brent, her eyes 
shining with honesty. 

“I like you,” she said. 

“And I like you, Joyce,” Miss Brent re¬ 
turned gravely. “I feel sure you will win 
many friends here, but I am awaiting your 
decision.” 

Joyce took time to think, looking down at 
her dusty shoes. It would be much easier, of 
course, to have Miss Brent smooth the way 
for her. Still, if she had wanted to do so, 
she would not have asked Joyce’s opinion 
first. Joyce looked up again.” 

“I think—I know when a new girl comes 
into school back home, we all admire her 
much more if she stands on her own feet, 
takes care of herself. Perhaps it’s different 
here; and I’m a little frightened, it’s all so 


THE FIRST DAY 


57 


strange. But I guess, maybe, girls are the 
same everywhere, and I’ll be happier in the 
long run if I make my own friends.” 

“Very well.” Miss Brent arose and re¬ 
turned to her desk, where she pressed a but¬ 
ton. “I will have Miss Hodges show you 
your room, introduce you to some of the girls 
in your corridor, and see that you are com¬ 
fortably settled.” 

No word of commendation, not even a 
smile, but Joyce felt that she had won Miss 
Brent’s approval, and a glow of satisfaction 
enveloped her from head to foot. 

Miss Hodges was a dowdy little person, 
but very energetic, and very talkative. 

“Come with me, my dear,” she said to 
Joyce. “You have one of the loveliest rooms 
in the school,” she chatted along as she and 
Jovce entered the elevator. “Patricia Strick- 

V 

land is to be your room-mate as soon as she 
is able to come back to school.” 

“Yes, I know,” Joyce nodded. 

“Too bad she is ill, but then I believe she 
did not intend to occupy a room here until 
her mother and father left for England.” 

“Yes—no—” said Joyce, but Miss Hodges 
chatted on, not heeding her. 


58 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“The two Misses Howland are to have the 
room adjoining yours. Ordinarily they do 
not stay with us, either; but Mrs. Howland is 
planning to open the Palm Beach house early 
this year. Moreover, Miss Roberta Howland 
is just entering here, and I understand that 
she is such a problem that her mother wishes 
her to be directly under our supervision.” 

“Yes—no—” agreed Joyce. Her head was 
in a whirl. She had seen so much, had so 
many unusual emotions, these past few days 
that she felt bewildered, and even a little tired. 

The room was indeed lovely, lovelier than 
anything Joyce had ever known. The wall¬ 
paper was light, and dainty draperies at the 
windows matched the design of it. Twin 
beds stood side by side, a small lamp on a 
table between them. Each girl had her own 
desk, her own dressing-table, her own clothes- 
closet. Through an open door Joyce caught 
a glimpse of shining tiles and a shower-bath. 

“Oh,” said Joyce, as she sank into a luxuri¬ 
ous chair, “How marvelous!” 

“I am glad you like it,” said Miss Hodges 
primly. “I know you are tired, my dear, 
but really wouldn’t it be a little kinder to 
remain standing while I am in the room?” 


THE FIRST DAY 


59 


In a flash Joyce was on her feet, a deep 
flush staining her cheeks. 

“I forgot!” she apologized. 

“Miss Brent has absolutely no tolerance 
for the prevalent ill manners of the present 
generation. Kindly remember that while you 
are here.” Miss Hodges was a little brusque; 
then she added more kindly: “ When you have 
refreshed yourself, come to my office. There 
are no classes to-day, but we are registering 
the girls and assigning their rooms. I will 
see that you meet some of the girls.” 

She was gone, closing the door gently after 
her. Joyce threw herself across the bed, 
fighting back the tears that would come. 

“Oh, I hate it here. I just know I’ll hate 
it. I like Miss Brent, but—I didn’t mean to 
be rude! I wish I had stayed home! I’m 
going to be terribly lonesome. Oh, I hate it 
here!” 

“Ha! A fellow-sufferer!” said a soft voice 
in her ear. 

Joyce looked up, startled. Before her was 
a girl of not more than fourteen years, possibly 
younger. Joyce saw in a glance that this 
girl belonged to this strange new world. Her 
clothes, her manner, the way her hair was 


60 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


cut, all bespoke sophistication; but about her 
eyes and mouth was an expression of open 
rebellion. 

Joyce nodded dumbly. She knew she looked 
a fright. Her eyes were red, her hair and 
dress were both mussed. Nevertheless, Miss 
Hodges’ rebuke still stung, and she struggled 
to rise. 

“Sit still; sit still,” said the younger girl, 
curling herself up at the foot of the other bed. 
“I was just on my way out. I heard your 
moans and lamentations. I felt that way, 
too, and paused to sympathize.” 

“That was nice,” said Joyce. 

“What’s wrong? Hodge-Podge stick a pin 
in you?” 

“Hodge-Podge?” asked Joyce. 

“Miss Hodges. Haven’t you heard her 
nick-name yet? You are new!” 

“Painfully new,” admitted Joyce, some of 
her natural humor returning. The other girl 
looked at her in pleased surprise. 

“You’ll do, in spite of your—never mind. 
I think I’m going to like you. I know I’m 
going to like you.” 

“You’re quite frank about it,” said Joyce. 

“I am so, both by nature and training. 


THE FIRST DAY 


61 


Do you like dogs?” She switched the con¬ 
versation abruptly. 

“Oh, I love them,” said Joyce enthusias¬ 
tically; “horses, too. My father keeps a 
livery stable.” 

The younger girl raised her eyebrows. 

“Oh, I know I’m going to like you. Tidy 
up a bit, and I’ll take you down and help you 
register. I’ve half an hour to spare.” 

Eagerly Joyce accepted the invitation. 
She considered changing into her blue-serge 
dress, but she decided that her travelling 
dress was newer, and, although badly mussed, 
would probably do for this first day. As usual, 
Joyce was not bothering greatly about clothes. 

Miss Hodges’ office was filled with girls; 
some stood in groups chatting, others ran 
in and out, several glanced up curiously as 
Joyce entered with her new friend. She was 
uncomfortably conscious that she was the 
subject of much subdued conversation. It was 
well for her that she could not hear the unkind 
remarks. 

“How did she get in here?” 

“She looks like a serving-maid.” 

“None of our serving-maids are ever so 
untidy as that!” 


62 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


This last produced a suppressed giggle. 
Joyce felt herself blush slowly; her companion 
glowered in the general direction of the giggle, 
but just at that minute Miss Hodges looked 
up. She smiled and nodded at Joyce’s com¬ 
panion, ^and then turned to Joyce. 

“I see you have already met your next- 
door neighbor. Now, if you will answer just 
a few questions, we will know where to place 
you. You have been attending a public 
school, have you not?” 

“ Yes, ma’am. Westcott High School. I’m 
a senior.” 

“Yes, yes. Any languages?” 

“French, mostly.” . 

Without raising her eyes, Miss Hodges 
asked a question rapidly in French. Much 
to her own satisfaction, Joyce was able to 
answer almost as rapidly. Miss Hodges made 
a mark on the paper before her. 

“Mathematics? Sciences? Arts and Crafts? 
Home Management? Management of Estates? 
Appreciation of Art? Music? Ethics? ” She 
rattled these off so glibly and rapidly that 
Joyce blinked. Miss Hodges looked up at the 
girl’s silence. Then she gave her the paper. 

“Just fill out which of these you have had, 


THE FIRST DAY 


63 


and the approximate grade attained. I sup¬ 
pose your credentials will arrive in a day or 
two; meanwhile I should like to classify you 
and have you register.” She turned. “Now, 
Miss Morton,” she motioned to a very pretty 
girl who waited at her left. 

Joyce stood, dumbly gazing at the paper 
which Miss Hodges had thrust into her hand. 
Only about every third item had any meaning 
whatsoever for her. She was bursting with 
questions that she must ask. How could she 
fill out the blank adequately unless she knew 
what the items meant? She came out of her 
trance at an easy touch on her arm. 

“Come along,” said her guardian; “let’s 
get out of here.” 

“But I must answer these questions,” pro¬ 
tested Joyce. Again she was aware that a 
covert smile passed among several of the 
girls standing about. 

Her companion had not waited for an 
answer. She had turned on her heel and 
started out. Not knowing what else to do, 
Joyce followed her. They sought a small 
room near by, which Joyce was to learn was 
one of several where the girls entertained 
callers, or joined in informal groups, or used 


64 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


merely as lounging-rooms when alone. Al¬ 
though Joyce did not appreciate fully the 
taste displayed nor the value of the furniture, 
she did realize that the room was charming. 

“Do we—can we—go in here for this?” 
She hesitated in the doorway. 

“Of course! Why not?” The other girl 
threw herself carelessly into a chair. 

“It seems too nice,” said Joyce. 

Nevertheless she seated herself, still clutch¬ 
ing the paper Miss Hodges had given her. 

“Too nice!” hooted the other girl. 1 ‘Better 
not let any of those snips in there hear you 
say that.” 

“They—they were rather snippy, weren’t 
they?” Joyce felt the slow blush beginning 
again. “I—I think they were saying things 
about me.” 

“Don’t let that bother you! Empty-heads! 
They don’t know anything but clothes—and 
beaux!” Contempt was evident in the other 
girl’s tones. 

“But you’ve been terribly nice to me,” said 
Joyce gratefully. Then she looked startled. 
“And I don’t even know your name.” 

“Fifty-fifty,” chuckled the younger girl. 
“I don’t know yours, either.” 



THE FIRST DAY 


G5 


“Me? Oh, I’m Joyce Hunter.” 

“Joyce Hunter!” The other girl sat sud¬ 
denly erect. “Is that Raoul Hunter your 
brother?” 

“Yes,” said Joyce eagerly. “Do you know 
him?” 

J 

“Not exactly; we’ve never—that is, I sup¬ 
pose I do, really. He was the one who rescued 
Patricia out of our pond. And it was all my 
fault really—” 

“Oh, you’re Bobby Howland!” said Joyce 
suddenly. 

“ Absolutelv! And vour brother is a duck.” 

i/ , i< 

“That sounds almost like a pun,” said 
Joyce with a giggle, “especially under the 
circumstances.” 

“Take it or leave it,” said Bobby flippantly. 

“You know you’re quite different from 
what I thought you’d be. I’ve heard you 
were a terrible tomboy—and—and—a case. 
Miss Hodges said—” 

“Oh, plague Miss Hodges!” 

“But you aren’t, a bit. You’re quite 
the nicest person I’ve ever met. Oh, I 
do hope we can be friends!” said Joyce fer¬ 
vently. 

“So you think I’m not a tomboy nor a 


66 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


harum-scarum?” There was a queer look on 
Bobby’s face. 

“Oh, no, not a bit. I’m that sort of person, 
but you—Why, you’re so thoughtful, and then 
look at your beautiful clothes!” 

Bobby laughed. 

“Wait until you see my menagerie. And 
do let’s get back to that paper. My half- 
hour is nearly gone.” 

Dinner was another very trying time for 
Joyce. She was very self-conscious, and she 
felt certain that her table-manners would be 
criticized by these girls. Then, also, they 
were for the most part in light dresses, and 
Joyce still wore her mussed travelling dress. 
She was most uncomfortable. 

There were seven girls and one teacher at 
each table. It was the teacher’s duty to 
preside, to see that the girls knew one another, 
and to keep the conversation general. Un¬ 
fortunately, the teacher at whose table Joyce 
was placed this first evening, was a very 
meek, subdued person, who taught Apprecia¬ 
tion of Art. Two of the girls were Old Girls 
who had been at Miss Brent’s the previous 
year. They were well aware of Miss Keat¬ 
ing’s failing, and proceeded to manage affairs 



THE FIRST DAY 


67 


in their own way. Two of the new girls were 
their friends, and the four of them proceeded 
to chat and giggle among themselves, entirely 
effacing Joyce and the two remaining girls at 
the table. Miss Keating made one or two 
ineffectual attempts to straighten matters out, 
and then subsided. Joyce continued to eat 
her meal in silence, glancing now and then at 
her fellow-sufferers, but receiving no sympa¬ 
thetic glance in return. 

Suddenly one of the Old Girls, whose name 
was Frances Evans, broke into French. 

“Isn’t she a fright?” she asked of the other 
Old Girl. 

Joyce was well aware who was meant. 
Anger, a rare thing with her, flared in her 
heart, dyed her cheeks. Scarcely realizing 
what she was doing, Joyce looked straight at 
the girl who had spoken, and said in her 
perfect French, “Will you pass me the rolls, 
if you please?” 

Joyce at least had the satisfaction of seeing 
Frances Evans blush uncomfortably and drop 
her eyes. Frances made no move to pass the 
rolls, and Joyce discovered during the ensuing 
silence that the plate of rolls was directly in 
front of her. 


68 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


When at last Joyce tumbled into bed, very 
weary, more than a little homesick, a wee bit 
blue, another terrible realization came to her. 

“Oh,” she groaned to herself, “I’ve been in 
New York a whole day, and I haven’t even 
telephoned Mrs. Strickland to ask how Pa¬ 
tricia is. I am utterly hopeless!” 


CHAPTER VI 


SCHOOL STARTS 

Joyce’s sunny good nature quickly 
reasserted itself. She arose the next morn¬ 
ing, donned a fresh, immaculate dress, 
singing as she did so. She laughed as she 
thought of Sally Orcutt and her superstitions. 

“Dear Sally,” said Joyce aloud. “I must 
write her. Won’t she be surprised to learn 
that I am in New York? And the very first 
thing I must do after breakfast is to telephone 
and inquire about Patricia.” 

But it was a great deal more than half 
an hour after breakfast was finished before 
Joyce found time to telephone about Patricia. 
Directly after the meal, mail was distributed. 
The girls eagerly surrounded the teacher who 
had charge of this, for while all the day 
pupils and a few of the boarders were really 
New York girls, still a great many of Miss 
Brent’s pupils came from out of town. And, 
needless to say, there was already more than 
one girl who had felt a touch of homesickness. 

Joyce expected no mail, but she joined the 

69 


70 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


eager crowd. There was a great deal of 
chatter, and Joyce was included in it. Happily 
she responded. And, to her great surprise, 
there were two letters for her. Eagerly she 
opened them. One was a note from Raoul, 
telling her he would telephone her later in the 
day, giving her a warning to expect a call at 
a certain hour. The other letter, much to 
Joyce’s surprise, was from Grandma Parsons. 
Although this second epistle contained no 
great amount of news, Joyce welcomed it. 

“Isn’t that just like Grandma Parsons?” 
she thought to herself. “She knew I’d 
probably be homesick. And how good a 
letter from home does look, even though it 
left Westcott the same day as I did.” 

As soon as her letters were read, Joyce 
rushed to her room. This must be aired and 
straightened, although she had been informed 
that a maid would be in later to make her 
bed. 

While Joyce was still straightening, a gong 
resounded through the building, and she paused, 
wondering what it meant. There was a tap 
on her door, and Bobby Howland’s head 
appeared, peering in. 

“Good morning, Merry Sunshine,” she 


SCHOOL STARTS 


71 


greeted. “How did you wake so soon? I 
missed breakfast, which was quite all right 
with me. Reducing is the proper gesture 
nowadays.” 

“My gracious!” said Joyce. “You don’t 
need to reduce.” 

Bobby opened the door and entered. 

“That’s Miss Brent’s idea in general con¬ 
cerning us all. It’s a serious misdemeanor 
to miss breakfast. However, the first day 
or two no one is ever very strict. But do 
come along, old thing. Didn’t you hear the 
gong?” 

“Yes, I heard it. What does it mean?” 

“That gong is the most pestiferous thing 
in this whole building. It says ‘Get up,’ and 
we arise; it says ‘Go to bed,’ and we retire, 
presumably. It says ‘Come,’ and we come; 
‘Go,' and we go. Before the end of the term 
you have become either an automaton or a 
raving maniac.” 

Joyce laughed. 

“I haven’t learned the language of bells 
yet. What did it say just now?” 

“I shall translate,” said Bobby, striking 
an attitude. “Little friend, the gong just 
said, ‘Come ye! Come ye! To the general 


72 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Assembly Hall. Come ye all! And if you 
be found on the stairs or loitering in the hall, 
or, worst of all, in your room, when I again 
speak in five minutes or less, I’ll gobble you 
up!” 

“My gracious!” Joyce started for the door. 
“Those five minutes must be nearly gone. 
Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Oh, well,” Bobby followed her nonchal¬ 
antly down the hall, “no one is very strict 
the first few days. Besides, it doesn’t pay 
to be too prompt. You acquire a reputation 
for punctuality or obedience, and then you 
must either live up to your reputation or lose 
your self-respect.” 

“How old did you say you were?” ex¬ 
claimed Joyce, as they entered the elevator. 

Bobby raised her eyebrows. 

“I haven’t said, but I shall be glad to. Do 
you wish information concerning my years, 
my experience, miy feelings, or my knowledge? ” 

“I meant years,” said Joyce. 

“Oh, as to that, not yet fifteen; otherwise, 
I’m as old as Methuselah.” 

Before Joyce had time to reply to this, the 
second gong sounded. 

“0 my!” she said, in a flurry, as she 


SCHOOL STARTS 


73 


stepped out of the elevator. “Which way 
do we go?” 

Bobby was at any rate still young enough 
to giggle. 

“Come on. This way. And don’t be so 
alarmed. No one is going to behead you.” 

Bobby and Joyce, with several other late¬ 
comers, slipped into seats, which were really 
very comfortable chairs, at the rear of a 
large room. Miss Hodges was in charge of 
this room, and Joyce looked at her carefully. 
She was a plain little woman, round as a 
butter-ball. Her dress, of some dark material, 
was of a style ten years past. Her face was 
round and brown. Joyce wondered what 
there could be in the personality of this 
queer little woman that she should be next 
in charge to Miss Brent. For Miss Brent, 
Joyce felt the most profound admiration, an 
admiration which was to grow throughout 
the year; but for Miss Hodges her feelings 
were mixed. Certainly she could not admire 
her, and yet she had to admit that un¬ 
doubtedly the woman had great capability. 
Joyce felt that this teacher somehow lacked 
the larger understanding of girls which was 
Miss Brent’s. She was speaking now, and 


74 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce paid strict attention. There was so 
much to be learned that she felt she must 
not miss one iota. Several of the other girls 
were not nearly so attentive. 

“First of all,” said Miss Hodges, “I will 
announce something pleasant. You know 
I always like to coat the pill with sugar, 
although I feel, and I am sure that many of 
you girls feel, also, that classes here at Miss 
Brent’s require no sugar-coating.” 

She gave them a funny little smile, and 
Joyce could not decide whether she was 
being really clever, or just silly. 

“The pleasant affair is the reception for 
the New Girls, on Friday evening.” 

There was subdued hand-clapping. 

“Oh,” said Joyce, half audibly, “Patricia 
will have to miss it!” 

Several girls near turned and stared at her. 
Joyce sank into an embarrassed silence, and 
was angry with herself as she felt a blush 
rising to her face. Nevertheless, she held 
her head high and pretended to listen to Miss 
Hodges as she mentioned time and place and 
began naming the acting committees, girls 
who were to meet with her directly after 
Assembly. 


SCHOOL STARTS 


75 


“ And now,” went on Miss Hodges, “in 
regard to classes: I think most of the schedules 
have been well filled out and attended to, 
with perhaps one or two exceptions. I ad¬ 
vise every girl to have typewritten, or filled 
out in some manner, her hour list, with 
schedule of classes. Put this on the back of 
your door. Then there will be no excuse for 
tardiness or absence, even these first days.” 

Bobby Howland made a grimace behind 
her hand. 

“To-morrow we shall begin our regular 
schedule, and each pupil must be in her 
appointed class at the appointed time. For 
the sake of all newcomers, let me announce 
that a warning gong sounds throughout the 
buildings before each class. Five minutes 
later, another gong is rung. Any one appear¬ 
ing in class after this second gong is given a 
tardy mark. And again, for the sake of the 
new girls, let me announce that Miss Brent is 
very strict concerning tardiness. There is no 
real reason why each girl cannot be in her 
class at the proper time. In case of illness, 
of course, there is an excuse; but if a girl is 
ill enough to be tardy, she is ill enough to be 
sent to the infirmary.” 


76 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce looked about her. Carelessness 
about time was one of her own faults, and she 
made a firm resolve always to be on the dot 
here at Miss Brent’s. The girls about her 
were looking and acting bored. A few were 
idly examining their finger-nails, pushing back 
the cuticle, or polishing them on the palm of 
the opposite hand; others were gazing out the 
window or toward the door. Bobby Howland 
was giving Miss Hodges respectful attention, 
but Joyce could see it was an effort. After a 
few short announcements, regarding the use of 
the tennis-courts, the penalty for missing gym¬ 
nasium work, the use of the swimming-pool, 
and the necessity of signing up beforehand 
for riding-horses, Assembly was dismissed. 

“One moment,” Miss Hodges’ clear voice 
rose over the murmur of conversation as the 
girls filed out. “I neglected to read the 
names of five girls whom I wish to see in my 
office at once.” 

There was a pause, conversation died away, 
and in the silence the five names sounded 
startlingly clear. Joyce was the first on the 
list, and again, to her own disgust, she felt 
herself blushing. 


SCHOOL STARTS 


77 


“That is all,” said Miss Hodges. Again 
talk was resumed. 

“What do you suppose she wants with me?” 
Joyce whispered to Bobby Howland. 

“I can’t imagine. Probably a conflict in 
your schedule,” Bobby replied hurriedly, and 
ran ahead a few steps to speak in a low tone 
to a very pretty older girl. 

Joyce turned away, unreasonably hurt at 
Bobby’s abrupt answer. It wasn’t going to 
be too easy, life here at this school. Joyce 
half wished she had allowed Miss Brent to 
take her in charge. But suddenly she threw 
back her head. Maybe these girls were 
wealthier, better dressed, better educated than 
she was, but she was not going to be hurt by 
them. What they had of merit, she would 
acquire. She and Patricia and Mary Tain tor 
had become firm friends, and both those 
girls were leaders here. Maybe she was from 
the country, maybe she didn’t know much, 
but she would learn! And she would not 
allow herself to be so easily hurt, only this 
Bobby Howland had seemed so friendly, 
and— 


78 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch 
on her elbow, and Bobby’s mirthful face 
grinning into hers. 

“My gracious! You are in a hurry. I 
nearly lost you.” Joyce was to learn that 
Bobby never apologized for anything she ever 
did. “I know it is a bit previous, but under 
the circumstances—Patricia ill and all—” 

“What are you talking about?” Joyce 
looked at her with a puzzled frown. 

Bobby’s smile was roguish. It changed the 
whole contour of her face, giving her the look 
of a mischievous small boy. 

“I am about as clear as mud, I’ll admit. 
What I’ve been trying to say is: Would you 
care to come to us for the week-end?” 

Joyce’s face was radiant. 

“Oh, I’d love it—if you’d care to have me.” 

“Wouldn’t have asked you else. We’re 
still in the country. Don’t mind,do you?” 

“Oh, I love the country,” said Joyce. 

“All right. I’ll tell Marion. She’s driving 
out to-night. Ordinarily, one or two extra 
isn’t even noticed, but Mother rather wanted 
to know—” 

Bobby was off again down the hall, trailing 
her words after her. 


SCHOOL STARTS 


79 


Joyce went on, quaking a little in the knees, 
to Miss Hodges’ office. She was elated over 
Bobby’s invitation, and possibly might have 
been more so, had she known how much 
several of the girls in the school would have 
valued a similar one to the Howland home, 
and yet she was frightened a little, too. But 
she was more concerned over this coming 
interview with Miss Hodges. What could it 
mean? 

The interview was not serious. Joyce had 
two conflicts in her schedule that needed 
straightening out. Moreover, she had not 
signed for any riding-hour. 

“Don’t you care to ride?” asked Miss 
Hodges. 

“Oh, I love it!” Joyce was enthusiastic. 

“Then how does it happen that it is not 
on your schedule? You know Miss Brent’s 
prides itself on the splendid horsemanship 
of its girls.” Miss Hodges raised her eye¬ 
brows. 

Joyce glanced quickly at the four other 
girls awaiting their turns, and then dropped 
her gaze to the floor. 

“I guess—I thought perhaps—it might be 
too expensive!” she blurted out. 



80 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Miss Hodges screwed her mouth up into 
a queer little twist. 

“That needn’t bother you specially, need 
it?” 

Joyce was miserable. 

“No, I suppose not, only I didn’t like—” 
she hesitated. 

There was a pause. 

“Well,” said Miss Hodges, finally, “I shall 
list you for Tuesdays and Thursdays at 
four-thirty, with a possible hour on Saturday 
morning. That is satisfactory, is it not? ” 

“Quite,” said Joyce and fled. 

She did not go far before she heard her 
named called. 

“Miss Hunter. Miss Joyce Hunter. You’re 
wanted on the ’phone.” 

Joyce’s heart almost stopped beating for a 
minute. What could it be? Then she re¬ 
membered. 

“Oh, it’s Ray, of course, I didn’t have any 
idea so much of the morning had gone.” 

She ran eagerly to the telephone-booth, 
which was situated in the school’s business 
office. 

“Hello, Joy,” came Ray’s cheery voice over 
the wire. “How’s the world treating you?” 



SCHOOL STARTS 


81 


“Oh, just wonderfully, Ray. I know I’m 
going to love it here. I’ve met several of the 
girls already.” 

“Good work! Have you heard from 
Patricia?” 

“No!” exclaimed Joyce ruefully. “Isn’t 
that terrible? I’m going to call her as soon 
as I finish talking to you.” 

“I just had a letter from home,” said Ray. 
“Every one is fine. I thought I’d better call 
you early this morning because I’ve got to go 
over to Trenton, and possibly down to Phila¬ 
delphia.” 

“Oh, Ray!” wailed Joyce, suddenly and 
unexpectedly homesick. 

Ray laughed. 

“Neither place is very far. Don’t lose 
your nerve, Sis. I’ll be back Saturday, and 
we’ll have a big jamboree,—a matinee, if 
they’ll let you, and dinner, or anything you 
say. 

“Lovely!” said Joyce, her spirits soaring 
again. 

“All right. Keep a stiff upper lip until 
Saturday. I must go now, Joy, I’m in a 
rush.” 

“Good-bye,” said Joyce. 



82 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


No sooner had she replaced the receiver 
with a little click than she recalled Bobby’s 
invitation. 

“O my goodness!” she gasped. “Now 
what shall I do? I can’t disappoint Ray, 
and I can’t reach him. I don’t even know 
where he ’phoned from. Well,” she sighed, 
“I’ll just have to tell Bobby Howland I 
can’t come. And I did so want to go. I’ll 
go tell her at once.” 

As she turned from the phone, she remem¬ 
bered Patricia. 

“I’m going to call Mrs. Strickland right 
here and now. It’s disgraceful that I haven’t 
done it sooner.” 

Joyce had her troubles on this first call. 
She did not know the Stricklands’ number, 
and it took several minutes to find the 
correct name in the bulky telephone directory, 
accustomed as she was to a book containing 
half a dozen pages. The call, when finally 
she did find it, was most peculiar looking. 
Instead of being 243-J, as Grandma Parsons’ 
was, it had first an abbreviation which she 
could not read, and then 1883. Joyce hesi¬ 
tated a moment and then left the booth and 
walked up to a girl seated at the office desk. 


SCHOOL STARTS 


83 


44 What call is this?” asked Joyce, pointing 
to the abbreviation. 

The girl raised supercilious eyebrows. 

“Mawningside-1883,” she replied. 

“What?” gasped Joyce. 

“Mawningside-1883,” repeated the girl. 

Joyce looked from the girl to the book and 
back to the girl again. 

“Oh,” she said, a great light dawning on 
her. “Morningside!” 

“That’s what I said,” answered the girl. 

Joyce returned to the booth and gave her 
number. 

44 Drop a nickel,” came the reply. 

44 O gracious!” exclaimed Joyce, 44 1 have no 
money.” 

44 Drop a nickel,” repeated Central auto¬ 
matically. 

Joyce hung up the receiver and went in 
search of five cents. Once again she returned, 
and again she gave her number. This time 
she was answered by a peculiar buzzing sound. 

44 Now what is wrong?” worried Joyce, who 
was by this time very hot and uncomfortable. 

44 Your number is busy,” Central finally 
deigned to inform her. 

After a long wait, Joyce talked to Mrs. 


84 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Strickland. She apologized profusely for not 
having called sooner, and Mrs. Strickland, a 
very busy woman herself, appreciated the 
whirl into which the girl had fallen. She 
told her that Patricia was improving rapidly. 

“I think in another week, or two weeks at 
the most, she will be able to be in school 
again. She has decided to come as a boarder 
as soon as she is able to come at all. Her 
condition is no longer serious, but she is very 
nervous, and, for Patricia, irritable.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Joyce. 

“I know you will forgive her, Joyce, if she 
is a bit difficult at first.” 

“Of course,” said Joyce. 

“Pll try to see you soon. I was so sorry 
I was unable to meet you yesterday. And I 
hope very soon to be able to have you with us 
for lunch, at least.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” protested Joyce. 
“Pm getting along splendidly.” 

“I knew you would be,” said Mrs. Strick¬ 
land/' Have you met many of the girls?” 

“Principally Bobby Howland,” said Joyce. 

“Bobby is a dear.” Joyce could almost see 
Mrs. Strickland’s smile. “She’ll take good care 
of you.” 


SCHOOL STARTS 


85 


“She has done so already,”said Joyce, “ but 
I’ll be mighty glad to see Patricia.” 

“And now that’s done,” she said aloud to 
herself as she turned from the telephone. 
“The very next thing I do must is to find 
Bobby Howland and explain about Saturday.” 

She found Bobby again talking to the pretty 
older girl, evidently arguing with her. 

“You’ve never met Marion, have you?” 
Bobby asked Joyce. 

“No,” said Joyce. 

“My sister,” Bobby explained. 

The older girl smiled rather faintly at 
Joyce. 

“Bobby tells me she has asked you for the 
week-end,” said Marion politely. 

“Yes,” acknowledged Joyce, “and I’ve just 
discovered that I can’t go.” 

“Why?” Bobby whirled on her. 

Joyce explained the situation concerning 
Raoul. 

“Raoul! Ray Hunter?” exclaimed Marion. 

“That gorgeous brother of yours,” exclaimed 
Bobby. “Lovely! What could be sweeter! 
Just bring him along!” 

“But your mother—” began Joyce. 

“Mother won’t mind. We’ll stage a dance 


86 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


or a sailing party, or something! He must 
come. Do bring him, Joyce.” Bobby was 
enthusiastic. 

“ Yes, do.” Marion was much more cordial 
than she had been a few minutes earlier. 


CHAPTER VII 


SAILING 

The next few days were extremely busy 
ones for Joyce, settling her belongings, getting 
acquainted with the girls, trying to remember 
her schedule without running back to her 
room between classes to consult her written 
slip, learning where the different classes were 
held, the name of each new teacher. Joyce 
was a busy girl indeed, but she found time 
each day to call up the Strickland residence 
and to inquire for Patricia; and each day the 
report was more encouraging. 

Friday evening rolled around before Joyce 
was aware that Wednesday had departed. 

“Will you tell me,” she asked Bobby How¬ 
land,, “what became of Thursday?” 

“You should know,” Bobby teased her. 
“Which horse did you like the best?” 

Joyce blushed and then giggled. 

“I never did anything so dumb in my life. 
Yes, I did, too, last summer at camp, only 
then it wasn’t really my fault and yesterday 
it was. 

“Tell me about it,” begged Bobby. 

87 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


88 

“ Nothing to tell. Last summer my horse 
shied when I wasn’t looking, but yesterday I 
just naturally tumbled off, although my 
stirrups were a bit too long,” added Joyce. 

“The poor groom!” Bobby was shouting 
with laughter. “I never laughed so hard in 
all ,my life as I did at that groom trying to 
catch the beast that dropped you. Poor 
Thorpe! Serves him right, though. He 
should have told you that Thunder always 
likes to lead the procession. Marion warned 
me. That’s why I took that old plug Aladdin. 
How was the groom’s horse?” 

“He was all right,” said Joyce with a wry 
face. “I was sorry the groom had to walk in, 
but that Thunder was such a beautiful horse, 
and I was so sure I could manage him!” 

“You wouldn’t have had a bit of trouble if 
you had let him go up ahead.” 

“I rather thought that was what he 
wanted,” said Joyce. 

Bobby Howland was astonished. 

“Then why did you hold him back?” 

Joyce blushed. 

“That Frances Evans was up there.” 

“I see!” exclaimed Bobby. 

“J certainly was rewarded for being afraid. 


SAILING 


89 


I made a regular laughing-stock of myself for 
those girls/’ 

Bobby Howland tossed her head. 

“I never did like Fran Evans. She hasn’t 
any sense. And since she made Turk’s 
Head—” 

“Turk’s Head!” interrupted Joyce. 
“What’s that?” 

“Nothing!” said Bobby shortly. “And 
Fran Evans is a dyed-in-the-wool snob!” 

“Something like Helen Trowbridge.” 

“Who?” ejaculated Bobby. 

“One of the girls in camp last summer,” 
explained Joyce. “She tried to be haughty 
with Patricia.” 

“What! Did she succeed?’ 

“Not exactly,” said Joyce dryly. 

“Tell me about it,” begged Bobby How¬ 
land. “Oh, no, you won’t have time now. 
There goes that old gong!” 

“Do we go to parties by gong?” asked 
Joyce surprised. 

“My dear, we go to classes, to food, to bed, 
to pleasures, and pains, all by gong and on 
time. I tell you, by spring you’ll be a raving 
maniac if you pay attention to it. I must 
rush. I’ll pop in for you on my way down.” 


90 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


She was gone, and Joyce hurried into her 
one and only evening dress. It was really 
a very pretty little gown, and Joyce, standing 
before the long mirror, felt reassured. But 
when she and Bobby appeared in the hall 
where the reception was being held, that 
assurance left her abruptly. 

The hall was in reality the gymnasium, but 
it had been cleverly decorated and made an 
attractive room. Large white and maroon 
chrysanthemums filled all the corners. Green¬ 
ery was everywhere. The “old girls” had 
even taken hold with a will, and an orchestra 
was playing softly. The lights had been 
successfully dimmed, and the place was indeed 
a fairyland. 

Joyce gasped as she looked around, and the 
consciousness of her pretty dress faded from 
her, for on every side were frocks so much 
lovelier than hers that she felt almost tawdry. 
For an instant, she considered rushing back 
to her room and hiding from sight. She was 
prevented from obeying this impulse by a tug 
at her wrist. 

“Come on,” said Bobby. “Don’t stand 
gaping like that. The line is over here.” 

Joyce looked at her in bewilderment. Re- 


SAILING 


91 


ceptions in Westcott were few and far between, 
and the reference to a “line” met an abso- 
utely blank response in Joyce’s mind. Never¬ 
theless, she followed Bobby obediently and 
shook hands with Miss Brent and Miss 
Hodges. 

“Good evening, Joyce” Miss Brent smiled 
at her. “We’re so sorry Patricia is not with 
us this evening.” 

“So am I,” answered Joyce honestly, beam¬ 
ing to think that Miss Brent recognized her 
amid so many girls. 

Miss Hodges hurried her along, with a 
polite, indifferent manner, to the girl standing 
next in line. Joyce hesitated before she 
put out her hand, for the girl was Frances 
Evans. 

“Oh, good evening! We’re so glad you’re 
here.” Frances Evans was effusive, standing 
as she did, directly under the eyes of Miss 
Hodges. 

Joyce looked at her in astonishment which 
was so great that she forgot to reply. Frances 
Evans pushed her along down the line, and 
quickly turned to speak to Miss Hodges. 

Joyce tried to cling to Bobby, but the 
younger girl, heedless of Joyce’s embarrass- 


92 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


ment, noticed friends of her own, and hurried 
off, leaving Joyce to her own devices. Joyce 
wandered about, knowing no one, and feeling 
too shy to make any advances. No one 
heeded her, and at last she settled into a quiet 
corner to watch the gayety of the other girls. 
Before long the floor was cleared, and the girls 
began dancing together. The girls who had 
been at Miss Brent’s the previous year, took 
the initiative and invited the New Girls to 
dance. No one paid any attention to Joyce, 
who, feeling more than ever out of it, huddled 
into her corner. 

She heard some one come up behind her, and 
then as one girl settled herself, Joyce heard a 
familiar voice say: “That was lovely! You 
do dance so well!” 

Joyce whirled around so quickly that she 
nearly fell off her chair. The sudden move¬ 
ment attracted the attention of the other girl, 
and she turned to face Joyce. For a minute, 
the two stared at one another, and then they 
spoke, in almost simultaneous words. 

“Why, Joyce Hunter,” said the other girl. 
“What are you doing here? 99 

“Why, Helen Trowbridge!” said Joyce* 
“What are you doing here?' 9 


SAILING 


03 


For a minute longer they stared, then Helen 
Trowbridge tossed her head. 

“I have a very dear friend here. I don’t 
suppose you have met her. She belongs to 
the Turk’s Head Club.” Helen turned back 
to the girl with whom she had been dancing. 
Joyce looked up. It was Frances Evans. 

“X suppose,” Helen Trowbridge sneered 
over her shoulder to Joyce, but largely for 
Frances Evans’ enlightenment, “I suppose 
your friend, Patricia Strickland, is here?” 

“Patricia is ill,” she flared, “but I am very 
happy to say that she is my friend! ” 

The other two girls ignored her, and giggled 
together over something imperceptible to 
Joyce. She stood up abruptly, ready to flare 
into one of her rare bursts of temper, when 
Bobby Howland rushed up to her. 

“Ah—there you are! Joyce, I’ve been 
wondering who had eloped with you. It’s 
time for eats. Do come along.” 

Joyce gulped down her anger and went with 
Bobby, but she was unable to forget entirely 
the actions of Helen Trowbridge and Frances 
Evans. However, Joyce was a good dancer, 
and under the guidance of Bobby Howland, 
she became acquainted with several Old Girls 


94 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


who kindly asked her to dance. It was a bit 
difficult at first, being led by another girl, but 
Joyce soon acquired the art. 

The evening which had started so badly, 
really ended very well. Joyce finally went 
to her room, tired and happy, and quickly 
fell into a deep sleep. 

Saturday morning was a busy one. Joyce 
flew around, packing a suit-case, taking only 
two of her few dresses, since, as she expected, 
she was only going to the country, and would 
not need much of a wardrobe there. Bobby 
overslept, and Joyce had to rouse her in time 
for breakfast. Marion made no pretense of 
rising at all. 

“Lazybones!” Bobby made a face at her 
sister, charming in a lacy negligee. “I’ve a 
notion to tell Hodge-Podge on you.” 

“Run along, little one.” Marion smiled 
lazilv at her. 

t/ 

“Now, I’ll guarantee Joycie’s been up for 
hours,” said Bobby, brushing back her slick 
locks. 

“No, not for hours,” said Joyce. “But I’m 
all packed.” 

“That’s right,” said Bobby, as she linked 
her arm in Joyce’s and strolled out through 


SAILING 


95 


the door. “ Don’t forget we’re going up to the 
country, dearest. I ordered the car for ten.” 

“All right,” Marion stifled a yawn. “Close 
the door softly.” 

Joyce had already written Raoul a note, 
explaining the change of plans, and telling 
him of his invitation to the Howland home. 
While she was at breakfast, she was called to 
the telephone. It was Ray, saying he would 
be ready at any time. 

“Got an evening dress, Joy?” he asked. 

“Yes, I have one.” 

“Better take it along.” 

“Oh, surely not, Ray. Bobby said it was 
just the country.” 

“Better take it, anyway.” 

Joyce thought at first that she would follow 
Ray’s advice, but, in order to do so, she would 
either have to pack a second bag, or repack 
the first one; moreover, after one look at the 
dress, still crumpled from the reception, she 
decided not to take it. 

“Foolish, anyway,” she thought to herself. 
“What use would I have for an evening dress 
in the country?” 

The car arrived very promptly at ten. 
Marion was ready, much to Joyce’s surprise. 


96 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Oh, Walters,” Bobby stood with one foot 
on the running-board of the car and looked 
impishly up into the impassive face of the 
chauffeur, “do let me drive.” 

“No, Miss.” 

“But I like to drive!” expostulated Bobby, 
half teasing, half in earnest. 

“Mrs. Howland’s orders, Miss.” Walters 
still looked straight ahead. 

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Bobby, as she 
catapulted herself into the rear seat, “I’ll 
never learn to be an expert in the city.” 

“You’re young yet,” Marion consoled her, 
half mockingly as the car started. 

Ray was soon picked up looking very 
attractive in a neat suit and a new hat. 
Joyce was beginning to appreciate the value 
of looking well, and was very proud of her 
brother. Ray had already met Marion How¬ 
land, and Bobby appealed to his sense of 
humor, so it was a very cheerful carload that 
started out for the destination on Long 
Island. 

Joyce enjoyed every minute of the ride, 
through the busy, crowded streets of New 
York, and later, out along the highway, with 
a glimpse now and then of the gleaming 


SAILING 


97 


waters of the Sound. She was round-eyed 
at the luxuriant beauty of some of the country 
homes whose expansive grounds they passed. 
And finally, when the car turned in at one of 
these beautiful estates, Joyce gasped for 
breath. 

“I thought we were coming to the country,” 
she accused Bobby. 

“ We are. It is.” Bobby looked surprised. 

<C I hope you took my advice,” said Raoul. 

Joyce did not answer, but she looked 
worried, thinking of the two dresses she had 
brought. 

Joyce had thought her room at school 
attractive, but the room she had in the 
Howland home far surpassed it. On one 
side the windows looked down on a garden, 
still beautiful, though many of the choicest 
blooms had now faded. On another side of 
the room the small-paned windows were 
swung open, admitting a view of the not too 
distant Sound, gleaming in the early fall 
sunlight. Joyce drew a deep breath, filled 
with ecstasy at the sight before her, and 
forgot her scanty wardrobe. But she was 
abruptly reminded of it when a maid entered 
and offered to unpack for her. 


98 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“No, thanks,” Joyce blushed uncomfort¬ 
ably. 

The maid showed surprise, but only for an 
instant. 

“I’ll do it myself,” Joyce tried to smile. 

“Very well, Miss. Is there anything else 
you wish?” 

Joyce shook her head miserably. 

But all her troubles vanished at the 
luncheon table. Mrs. Howland, a very busy 
woman, stopped only long enough to greet 
her guests and departed. The three girls 
and Raoul were the only ones at the table, 
although Roy Walker had been expected. 

“He’ll probably blow in for dinner,” 
sniffed Bobby. “That’s his idea of prompt¬ 
ness.” 

“Bobby!” protested Marion. 

Bobby smiled impishly. Although never 
very dignified, at Miss Brent’s she had re¬ 
strained some of her tomboy tendencies, but 
here at home, she was wholly natural. 

“How did you ever acquire the name of 
Bobby?” asked Raoul curiously. “It always 
makes me think of my young brother.” 

“Oh, Dad’s name is Robert. He thought 
I’d be a son, which I should have been, that 


SAILING 


99 


he could name Robert, also. But when I was, 
disappointingly, another daughter, he stuck 
to his point and called me Roberta. Sweet, 
feminine name! Hence Bobby. But he’s 
an old duck, is Dad.” Bobby’s face softened. 
“However,” she added in her sprightly 
manner, “that doesn’t explain what we’re 
to do to-night, nor, for that matter, this 
afternoon.” 

“We might have a dance,” said Marion 
with a touch of hauteur, and Joyce’s heart 
quailed again as she thought of her clothes. 
“A very informal one,” continued Marion, 
“no outsiders, so that you could come, 
Bobby.” 

“Thanks,” said Bobby dryly. “You’re so 
kind. Do you think Roy Walker will be 
here by then?” 

“Oh, yes, surely. We can dance to radio 
music. Saturday-evening programs are gen¬ 
erally very fair.” 

“O. K. That leaves three girls and two 
men. I’ll see if Jimmy Houston can come 
over.” 

“That lanky creature!” Marion tip- 
tilted her nose. 

“He isn’t very beautiful,” admitted Bobby, 


100 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“but he’s a dear. I often wish I could add 
him to my menagerie.” 

“I must see this famous menagerie,” urged 
Joyce. 

“Of course. Plenty of time. How about 
doing something this afternoon?’ 

“Is it too cold for swimming?” asked Joyce, 
hopefully. 

“Ask your brother!” exclaimed Bobby with 
a laugh in her voice and a sparkle in her eyes. 

“You children might go sailing,” said 
Marion languidly. 

“Don’t be so uppish,” said Bobby. “I 
suppose you plan to stay home and wait for 
Roy Walker. You’re foolish! I’d never be 
here waiting for him. I’d be a million miles 
away!” 

Marion tossed her head, but a tell-tale blush 
spread over her cheeks and she did not answer. 

“Sailing sounds good to me,” said Ray, 
“although I must admit I don’t know much 
about handling a boat.” 

Joyce noticed that the sisters exchanged 
glances, and from the look of surprise on 
Marion’s face and the roguish smile on 
Bobby’s she deduced that Ray had not been 
included in the sailing party. 


SAILING 


101 


Nevertheless, Raoul went with Bobby and 
Joyce down the Sound in the cat-boat. 
Joyce had never been in a sailboat before, and 
she found it a most exhilarating sport. Bobby 
sailed the boat, and sailed it well. As the 
spray flew up and over Joyce, she laughed 
aloud in the sheer joy of living. Bobby 
looked at her approvingly. 

"I wish they had made your kind oftener!” 
she ejaculated. 

They sailed up and down the Sound for 
some time. On the final return trip Bobby 
noticed a small cove with a stream, that 
attracted her attention. 

4 'Cracky! I thought I knew this place 
like a book, but I’ve never seen that before.” 

"It must have been there,” laughed Ray. 
"Here, where are you going?” 

"To explore.” 

"Better not,” said Ray. "We’re late now.” 

Bobby hesitated. 

"You know what you said about Roy 
Walker,” Ray reminded her. 

Bobby flashed him an enigmatic look. 
Nevertheless, she brought the boat about and 
sailed for home. 

The evening was cool, but not too cool. 


102 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Mrs. Howland readily agreed to the small 
informal dance proposed by Marion. 

“ Your father will be here later this evening. 
We are not going out. We shall come and 
join you.” 

“That helps,” Bobby capered about. 
“Jimmy Houston can’t come. He said he 
hurt his ankle in football practise, but Dad’s 
a real dancer.” 

But again Bobby was disappointed, for 
Mr. Howland was very late in arriving. 
Marion managed in some subtle feminine way 
to have both Ray and Roy Walker dance 
attendance on her, so that Bobby and Joyce 
were left to themselves. They danced a few 
times together and then Bobby left in disgust. 

“Come on, Joycie.” 

“Where to?” Joyce was glad enough to 
be off the floor and away from Marion, who 
was wearing a charming evening gown. 
Even Bobby had appeared in a simple dinner 
dress which set off her boyish beauty. 

“I know!” Bobby had a sudden inspiration. 

“The menagerie?” asked Joyce, who had 
not yet seen the animals. 

“It’s too late for that. The children are 
all asleep now. Come on.” 


SAILING 


103 


“ Where to? ” repeated Joyce as sne followed. 

“Sailing!” 

“Sailing!” cried Joyce, bewildered. 

“Of course. It’s moonlight. Wait here. 
I’ll need a wrap of some sort. Want a coat? ” 

“No, thanks,” said Joyce. “This dress is 
heavy!” 

Bobby disappeared, but was quickly back 
again, a soft wrap over her arm. Nimbly 
she led the way to the boat-house. Joyce 
followed, feeling all the while as though she 
were being included in some prank, and that 
Bobby was her own small brother and not 
Miss Roberta Howland at all. 

“I just must explore that cove,” explained 
Bobby as she and Joyce entered the boat. 

“Are we going away back there?” expostu¬ 
lated Joyce. 

“That isn’t far,” scoffed Bobby. 

Sailing at this hour was even more thrilling 
than it had been earlier in the day. It was 
moonlight, and the boat broke the silver ripples, 
with the water lapping against its side. All 
was quiet, except for occasional bursts of 
music that floated over the water to them. 

“I wonder if Jimmy really did hurt his 
ankle?” said Bobby. 


104 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


4 'He must have, if he said so,” protested 
Joyce; 

"Not necessarily! He may have gone 
elsewhere to dance,” explained Bobby. 

"Oh,” said Joyce. She looked at Bobby 
queerly, and Bobby flashed her a smile in 
return. 

For the most part, there was little conversa¬ 
tion. Joyce deeply enjoyed the beauty of 
the night and the motion of the boat, although 
she began to wish she had brought a coat, for 
the air was chilly. 

"There it is!” Bobby suddenly swung the 
boat-to the left. 

Cautiously and cleverly she maneuvered 
the craft. The cove was shallow, and a long 
arm of water stretched inland. 

"I must explore that!” insisted Bobby. 
Joyce was silent. 

Up the quiet moonlit stretch of water 
they went. There was no wind now, between 
these banks of overhanging trees, and the 
boat slowed. 

"Thunder!” exclaimed Bobby. 

There was a soft grating sound, and the 
boat was stuck fast in sand and mud. 

"Low tide!” said Bobby. "I never 


SAILING 


' 105 


thought of that. It looks as though we’d 
have to wade.” 

Wet and shivering, the two girls reached 
land. They had a hard scramble up the 
steep, thickly-grown bank. Courageously 
Bobby struck off in the general direction of 
her home. Joyce followed, shivering. 

“I didn’t intend to let you in for anything 
like this when I invited you out here,” said 
Bobby, half giggling. “I hope you don’t 
mind.” 

Joyce managed a smile. She was cold, 
tired, and uncomfortable, but Bobby was a 
dear. 

“Do you often get into pranks like this?” 
she asked. 

“Frequently,” admitted Bobby. 

“I’m beginning to think there is some 
truth in that charge of tomboy.” 

On through brambles and underbrush the 
two girls struggled. It was growing late, 
and Joyce began to feel a trifle alarmed. It 
seemed to her that they had been walking for 
hours when Bobby paused abruptly. 

“What’s that?” 

Joyce looked, a queer, choking feeling 
gripping her. Not far away a flash-light was 


106 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


being swung in circles. The moon had 
dropped from sight now, and in the dim 
starlight the two girls made out the figure 
of a man. 

“Run!” said Joyce. 

“No,” said Bobby stanchly. “Here. We’ll 
hide.” 

She dragged Joyce toward a hedge near by, 
but just as the two girls were crawling under 
it, the man’s voice boomed out. 

“ Bobby! Bobby! Oh—Roberta! ” 

“Dad!” gasped Bobby. Then she looked 
swiftly about and giggled. 

“Joyce, we’re hiding in our own hedge. 
Here I am back home again, and didn’t even 
know it.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


Joyce’s birthday 

Monday morning found the girls back in 
school again, none the worse for their ex¬ 
perience, although Marion now plainly con¬ 
sidered Joyce to be of the age and wisdom, 
or rather foolishness, of Bobby. 

Joyce had a surprise waiting for ner, an un¬ 
pleasant one, when she entered her room late 
Sunday evening. In a prominent place on 
her dressing-table was a vivid pink card. 
Joyce picked it up, wondering. Typewritten 
upon it was the command to see Miss Hodges 
at once. Late as it was, Joyce tapped on 
Bobby’s door and showed her the card. 

“Phew!” said Bobby. “What have you 
done now?” 

“I don’t know!” Joyce was bewildered. 

“Better wait until morning, anyway. It’s 
too late this evening to go down.” 

Joyce followed Bobby’s advice. The next 
morning, not even waiting to see if she re¬ 
ceived any letters, she hurried to Miss Hodges 
private office. That person received her with 
most open hostility. 


107 


108 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Will you kindly account for your absence 
of Saturday and Sunday?” Her voice and 
manner were very severe. 

“ Why, I went home with Bobby Howland!” 
answered Joyce in open astonishment. 

“Did you have permission to do so?” 

“Permission? I was invited.” 

“Permission from the school,” explained 
Miss Hodges, her voice still very acid. 

“I didn’t know I needed it,” answered 
Joyce, still astonished. 

“You are very rude!” 

“I didn’t mean to be,” apologized Joyce, 
“only—truly—I had no idea—” 

Miss Hodges looked at her searchingly, un¬ 
decided whether Joyce was cleverly lying or 
whether she was just ignorant. After a 
lengthy pause, during which Joyce looked 
steadfastly into the eyes of the older woman, 
Miss Hodges picked up a pen and scribbled 
a few hasty words. 

“Kindly take this to Miss Brent. You 
will, I believe, find her in her own office, and 
not too busy at this hour of the day. How¬ 
ever, if you are unable to locate her, return 
to me—at once.” 

Joyce picked up the note, and feeling very 



JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


109 


much like a naughty small boy, went in search 
of Miss Brent. 

She found her, as Miss Hodges had pre¬ 
dicted, in her own office. Joyce was relieved 
to find, also, that she was alone. With no 
word but “Good morning”, she laid Miss 
Hodge’s note on the desk. Miss Brent picked 
it up, read it slowly, read it again, and then 
looked at Joyce. 

‘Well?” she said. 

Joyce, still firm in her own conviction that 
she had done no intentional wrong, looked 
straight at Miss Brent. 

“I do not know what Miss Hodges has told 
you. I went to Bobby Howland’s without 
asking permission. I did not know that per¬ 
mission was necessary. You see, I am ac¬ 
customed to public schools. After lesson 
hours, our time is our own.” 

“Still,” said Miss Brent, “some one in 
authority knows your general whereabouts, 
your mother or father—a guardian.” 

“Yes, that is true,” acknowledged Joyce. 

“Well, when you are here in our care, we 
supply the place of the guardian, and we must 
be doubly careful, for there are so many of you, 
so few of us, and the responsibility is so great.” 


110 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I understand,” said Joyce. 

“Most of the girls are aware that they must 
not even leave the buildings without giving a 
report of their destination, and when they do 
so, it is a very serious misdemeanor.” 

“I am very sorry,” Joyce felt uncomfort¬ 
able. “I honestly didn’t mean to disobey.” 

“I see you didn’t.” Miss Brent smiled for 
the first time. “Of course, I cannot let you 
go entirely unpunished, for the sake of the 
other girls, but I will lighten your sentence. 
Ordinarily, in a case of this sort, a girl is 
deprived of all privileges for at least a month. 
However, I will shorten your time to ten 
days.” 

“Just what does it mean to be deprived of 
privileges?” asked Joyce. “I do not wish to 
commit another blunder.” 

“For the next ten days you are not to leave 
this group of buildings for any reason whatso¬ 
ever. You cannot go down-town to shop, nor 
to the theatre, in case there are any theatre 
parties, no horseback riding, absolutely no 
excuse to leave the buildings.” 

“I see,” said Joyce. “I am really very 
sorry about this, Miss Brent. And,” she 
added as an afterthought, “I didn’t mean to 


JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


111 


be rude to Miss Hodges. I was merely 
surprised.” 

Miss Brent dismissed her with a nod, 
already deep in the day’s problems. 

Joyce went soberly to her room. She still 
had half an hour before her first class. On 
her dressing-table she found two letters which 
Bobby had thoughtfully brought up to her. 
One was postmarked Westcott, and Joyce 
recognized Irma’s handwriting. The other, 
a large, soft, grey envelope, carried the New 
York postmark, and was addressed in a hand¬ 
writing unfamiliar to Joyce. Eager as she 
was to read Irma’s letter, curiosity prevailed 
upon her to open the grey envelope first. 
It was a charming note from Mrs. Strickland, 
stating that Patricia was much improved, and 
was able to be up and about, and that Joyce 
was to come to them on Wednesday for lunch 
and the afternoon. 

Joyce’s first reaction was joy. She was to 
see Patricia again. It made her realize how 
much she had missed her friend, made her 
realize, too, that perhaps, in the midst of all 
the excitement she had been a wee bit home¬ 
sick. Mrs. Strickland was such a dear! 
Joyce was anxious, too to see the Strickland 


112 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


home. Wednesday! That was two days off 
—not long to wait! Then sudden realization 
came to her. “Under no consideration what¬ 
soever are you to leave these buildings.” 
Miss Brent had said she was not to go for ten 
days. Tears started in Joyce’s eyes, and for 
just a minute rebellion swept her. It wasn’t 
fair! She hadn’t meant to disobey. They 
should have explained their old rules to her. 
Then her sense of justice asserted itself, and 
she regained her mental balance. She was 
well aware of the maxim: “Ignorance of the 
law is no excuse for crime.” Often and often 
had she heard her father quote that. Then, 
too, Miss Brent had really been most fair. 
The sentence had been shortened to ten days. 
Toward Miss Brent, Joyce had that feeling 
of respect that any one in an inferior position 
has toward one in authority who is just. A 
little feeling of bitterness toward Miss Hodges 
crept into Joyce’s heart, however. She might 
have explained the rules more carefully. She 
might have been kinder this morning. Well, 
the damage was done, and Joyce knew she 
must suffer the consequences. Even before 
she opened Irma’s letter, Joyce took time to 
sit down and write a note to Mrs. Strickland, 


JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


113 


explaining very carefully the whole situation. 
She felt somehow that it would be easier to 
write than to telephone. 

That done, she eagerly opened Irma’s letter. 
But it was a bad day for Joyce. Irma, jealous 
of Joyce’s good fortune, and indignant that 
she herself must teach in a small country 
school, had written sheet after sheet of 
complaint. 

She wrote in part: 

“Of course the school is near enough to 
town so that I can go back and forth every 
day. That’s not so good, either. It means 
I have to get up dreadfully early, and then 
when I get home at night, Mother is so tired 
from looking after that big house and the 
boys, that I have to pitch in and help with 
dishes almost every night! Really, Joyce, I do 
think you are a bit selfish to be off there in 
New York, having such a gay time. Dad 
misses you dreadfully. And you know Mother 
never could manage Bobbie. He gets worse 
every day. Even Timmie said last night: 
‘Gee! I wish I could earn enough money to 
go to New York. I don’t care how big that 
old town is. I’d be with Ray and Joy!’ 
Mother silenced his outburst, however, by 
reminding him that in such case he would 
have to leave Bingo behind. 



114 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Truly, if it weren’t for Celia Laurence 
and two or three of the boys that call quite 
frequently in the evenings, I don’t know what 
I should do!” 

Five closely-written pages of it* All the 
same strain! Joyce let them slip from her 
fingers and flutter idly to the floor. Had she 
done wrong to come? Was she selfish? Her 
father and mother had seemed so pleased that 
she was to have such a wonderful opportunity. 
Of course Irma hated teaching. It was too 
bad she had to do it, but it was what Joyce 
herself expected to do in another two years, 
as soon as she finished at Normal. Joyce 
gulped. c’Timmie—bless his heart—did miss 
her. She missed him, too, and funny little 
Bobbie and Bingo. To say nothing of her 
mother and father! Tears were very near the 
surface.,. 

Joyce was jerked from gloomy reflections 
by the sound of the gong. 

“Ravingmaniac is correct!” she ejaculated. 
“That old gong won’t even let me be home¬ 
sick! Just as well, maybe. O dear! Where 
did I put that French book?” 

A mad scramble, a dash, and she was off, 
down the hall. 




JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


115 


And though at the start ten days seemed 
endless, they passed very quickly. Routine 
was running smoothly now, and Joyce hurried 
from one class to another, deeply interested 
in the novel subjects she was studying, many 
of which were not even in the curriculum of 
the Westcott High School. Her first class 
every morning was French. Joyce had always 
liked French, and was very well pleased to 
find herself so proficient in it. Many of these 
girls had had French governesses in childhood; 
some of them had even spent some time in 
France, and though Joyce did not speak so 
fluently as these, nevertheless, her diction was 
very clear. After French came Home Eco¬ 
nomics. That, too, Joyce found extremely 
interesting. 

The class-rooms here were very different 
from those Joyce had been accustomed to. 
The seats in her school had been stiff and hard, 
of varnished pine, with desks before them, 
ink-stained, and often carved with initials. 
Here at Miss Brent’s the seats were really 
comfortable chairs, with adjustable large arms 
on one side. These arms could be used for 
desks. The room itself was pleasant, and 
quietly and tastefully furnished. Only in 


116 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


the largest classes were the chairs placed in 
rows, otherwise, they stood about at com¬ 
fortable angles. Even the teacher’s desk 
was inviting! 

After her class in Home Economics, Joyce 
had a free period. Generally she rushed to 
her room to do a little studying, or to finish 
some neglected task, possibly to do a little 
sewing; but often she lingered outside the 
“Music House.” This was a small building, 
containing half a dozen separate rooms in 
which the girls practised, who were studying 
music. Joyce was passionately fond of music, 
and though she could play no instrument, nor 
as she whimsically put it, “carry a tune, even 
in a basket,” she listened eagerly whenever 
opportunity presented itself. So, uncon¬ 
sciously, she was acquiring a taste for the best. 

Her last morning class on Mondays, 
Wednesdays, and Fridays was Interior Decora¬ 
tion, and again Joyce was absorbed with 
interest; but on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 
this time she studied Appreciation of Art. 
Here poor Joyce was all at sea. The teacher, 
Miss Keating, was decidedly inefficient. The 
girls paid scant heed to her talks, which were 
most uninteresting. Nevertheless, Joyce tried 


JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


117 


to pay attention, and found herself lost in a 
maze of strange names and unexplained terms; 
names such as Tintoretto, Cimabue, Fra An¬ 
gelico; terms such as fresco, murals, chrome, 
middle distance! Joyce appreciated beauty, 
but this seemed a strange way to her to learn 
to enjoy it. 

Afternoons, as Joyce said, she “did things.” 
Arts and Crafts alternated with Domestic 
Science, with time on Tuesdays and Thurs¬ 
days for horseback riding, and alternate days 
for gymnasium, swimming, and tennis. 
Joyce was indeed a busy girl, and, as she wrote 
to her mother, she couldn’t decide which of 
her afternoons she enjoyed most. She loved 
to swim, she loved to ride. Arts and Crafts 
was positively absorbing, and in Domestic 
Science they were allowed to eat the “mess” 
they cooked. It was a close choice. 

At the end of her ten days of punishment 
Joyce came to the dinner-table beaming. 
The table-groups were changed ordinarily 
once a month, but this time they had been 
moved at the end of the second week. Joyce 
was pleased to be away from Frances Evans 
and her group. She found the girls at this 
table far more congenial, and her hostess was 


118 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


the French teacher, a little round, butter-ball 
of a person, jolly, sparkling, having many 
difficulties still with the English language, 
often breaking forth into French, to the open 
amusement of the girls. 

“Why so cheerful, Little Stranger?” asked 
Philo Cornish, one of the Old Girls who was 
not a New Yorker, and who had an odd sense 
of humor, and an enormous interest in every 
one and everything. 

“Many reasons,” Joyce replied, with a 
smile, as she seated herself. 

“Are they namable ones?” 

“Oh—quite,” said Joyce. “In the first 
place, my time of durance vile has expired; 
in the second place, Patricia is coming back 
next Monday; in the third place—” 

“I haven’t a dog, in the first place!” inter¬ 
rupted Philo Cornish with a broad smile. 

“—in the third place,” continued Joyce, 
smiling back, “1 have a birthday, day after 
to-morrow, and my brother has promised me 
a surprise.” 

“A birthday!” two or three of the girls 
chorused together. “When?” 

“Friday,” said Joyce. 

“Splendid,” said Philo Cornish. “Hear 


JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


119 


that, Miss Derivieux? Miss Joyce here has 
a birthday. Shall I order the cake?” 

Joyce looked blankly from Miss Derivieux, 
nodding merrily, to Philo Cornish. 

“ Cake? What cake? What do you mean? ” 

The older girl explained that whenever there 
was a birthday girl at the table, the other girls 
always clubbed together and gave her a cake 
for dinner on that day. 

“How lovely!” said Joyce, with a little 
flush of pleasure. 

“What kind shall I order? Pauline makes 
marvelous Lady Baltimore.” 

“Who is Pauline?” Joyce was curious. 

“Pauline? One of the school fixtures. I 
believe her status is that of Pastry Cook. At 
any rate, she wears false eyebrows—and 
makes marvelous Lady Baltimore cake. But 
perhaps you would prefer chocolate,” added 
Philo kindly. 

“Oh, do let’s have Lady Baltimore!” spoke 
up one of the other girls. 

“By all means,” agreed Joyce, who had 
never tasted Lady Baltimore, and who was 
fond of chocolate. 

The cake more than surpassed all expecta¬ 
tions. After the regular dessert, it was 


120 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


brought to adorn the center of the table. It 
was a huge mound of creamy, frosted white, 
decorated with cherries and nuts. Joyce had 
the pleasure of cutting into it, and her slices 
were generous, so generous, in fact, that she 
was unable to finish her own piece, so rich was 
the combination of fruits, nuts, and frosting. 

“Um! I’ve had a most perfect birthday,” 
she said as she settled back; “a box from home, 
roses from the Stricklands, a darling compact 
from Bobby Howland, and now this!” 

“What was your brother’s surprise?” asked 
Philo Cornish. 

Joyce shook her head. 

“That is to be to-morrow. I am to meet 
him in the morning, and have a full day, shop¬ 
ping, lunch, and the matinee. Doesn’t that 
sound thrilling?” 

“Immensely so. Be sure to ask permission 
before you leave,” teased Philo. 

“I’ll never forget that again,” Joyce re¬ 
assured her. 

Saturday was fully as interesting as it 
sounded. Raoul called for Joyce, and in¬ 
formed her that the first thing they were going 
to do was shop. 

“Shop!” exclaimed Joyce. “What for?” 


JOYCE’S BIRTHDAY 


121 


“ Clothes!” 

“ Clothes! ” Joyce was astounded. “ Why, 

Ray—” 

“Listen,” said Ray, a bit awkwardly, but 
very determined. “I’m earning more money 
than I ever earned in my life before, and my 
needs are still simple. I don’t know what to 
do with my cash,” he added boyishly, “even 
after I send some home. I have a wad left. 
Now, I know these girls have scads of dresses, 
and you haven’t. That’s my surprise,” he 
ended. 

So Joyce acquired three new gowns, two for 
evening wear, and one for street wear. Much 
to her surprise, she found that the street gown 
could be worn at once. So she put it on, and 
appeared where Ray was waiting for her, 
wearing it. 

“Phew!” he gasped. “Why, Joy, you’re 
a regular stunner!” 

They lunched in one of the big hotels, and 
the food, the music, the people about her, 
Ray’s smiling face across from her, put Joyce 
in a dreamy mood. 

“Why so quiet, Joy?” asked Ray. “That 
isn’t like you.” 

<£ I’m too thrilled to talk,” she informed him. 


122 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Nevertheless, they did talk, of Patricia, of 
New York, of school, of Ray’s work, of Bobby 
Howland, and then of Bobbie Hunter, of 
Timmie, and of their mother and father. 

“Gracious! We’ll have to rush,” said 
Raoul suddenly. “ We’ll be late for the 
matinee.” 

Proudly he walked behind Joyce as they 
left the dinning-room, and summoned a taxi. 
And Ray had reason to be proud of his sister. 
Her dress was very becoming, and already she 
was acquiring the grace and self-confidence 
for which Miss Brent’s girls were famous. 

The matinee was a charming little thing 
of small town life, and Joyce giggled at the 
troubles of the poor drug-clerk, sympathized 
with the girl anxious to meet new people, and 
became so immersed in the picture before her, 
which she knew so well, that she forgot she 
was actually in New York. 

It was an elated Joyce that tumbled into 
bed that night. 

“I do hope Patricia will like my new frocks. 
This has been the most wonderful birthday 
I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget it!” 

Which last remark Joyce had made at least 
fifteen times in the past seventeen years. 


CHAPTER IX 


Turk’s head 

Through a long, rather lonesome Sunday, 
during which Raoul was preparing for his 
next week’s work, and Bobby Howland was 
again at home, and during a busy Monday, 
Joyce eagerly looked for Patricia’s arrival. 
Only disappointment awaited her. 

Tuesday was a crisp, mid-October day, 
and Joyce looked forward to her horseback 
ride. For various reasons, only three girls 
rode that day. Joyce’s pleasure was further 
heightened by the absence of Fran Evans. 
Joyce, who, as she herself said, rode “by 
instinct,” was acquiring many pointers from 
the groom. She again chose to ride Thunder 
in spite of her earlier tumble from his back. 
This day she had no reason to hold him in, 
and he led the other horses to his heart’s 
content. Joyce posted at a trot, galloped, 
single-footed, put the beautiful black Thunder 
through all his paces, much to his delight 
and her own. 

She rushed up to her room, tingling with 

123 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


m 

cold air, with exercise, and with general well¬ 
being. She planned a quick, cold shower, a 
change to fresh clothes, thinking to don the 
simpler of her two new dinner gowns. She 
threw open the door impetuously — and 
stopped short. It seemed at first glance as 
though the room was filled to overflowing 
with girls, most of whose names Joyce did 
not even know. Her glance travelled quickly 
about. She noticed Frances Evans, and 
became immediately self-conscious; then she 
saw Patricia. 

“Oh, Patricia, I’m so glad,” she began, 
rushing forward. 

So eager was she that she did not notice a 
chair directly in her path. Joyce stumbled 
awkwardly, regained her balance, and stood, 
still awkwardly, amid the giggles of these 
girls. 

“Falling seems to be your pet diversion,” 
said Fran Evans with a sneer. “Well, 
Patricia, I must run along. Do come down to 
my room this evening.” 

Joyce flushed and looked at Patricia, but 
Patricia was busy saying good-by to Fran 
Evans. A little pang smote Joyce. Was 
Patricia going to turn back into a snob again? 


TURK’S HEAD 


125 


The girls melted away in the wake of Fran 
Evans, and the room was suddenly empty. 

“I think you had better hurry a little if 
you are going to be ready for the dinner- 
gong,” said Patricia coolly. 

Joyce ran toward the shower, her eyes 
stinging, the thousand questions that bub¬ 
bled on her lips, dying in a breath. But sud¬ 
denly consolation came to her. Mrs. Strick¬ 
land had said that Patricia was very irritable 
from her illness. That excused a great deal. 
When Joyce appeared again, her hair care¬ 
fully combed, her ruddy cheeks glowing with 
health, and attired in her new dress, Patricia 
smiled at her. 

“You do look nice, Joyce. What a darling 
gown! It looks like a New York purchase.” 

“It is,” Joyce beamed, glad that the slight 
cloud had passed so easily. “Ray bought it 
for me.” 

“How is Ray? He sent me the cleverest 
book while I was ill.” 

“Ray is splendid. He asks for you con¬ 
stantly. It is such fun to have him here in 
New York.” 

“Isn’t it?” assented Patricia. 

Amiable and friendly once more, they wan- 


126 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


dered down to dinner. Patricia did not sit 
at Joyce’s table, and after dinner she dis¬ 
appeared. Joyce caught sight of her with 
Fran Evans, and, a little blue and discon¬ 
solate, she went to her room long before study 
period. 

She decided to write a letter home, but 
before she got fairly started there was a tap 
on her door, and Bobby Howland entered. 
In no way, by her manner, or her speech, did 
Bobby betray the fact that she had witnessed 
Patricia’s disappearance and Joyce’s retire¬ 
ment. 

“Hello, sailor!” she greeted Joyce as she 
curled herself up on the bed. “It strikes me 
you are industrious, unbecomingly so.” 

“I’m writing a letter home.” Joyce man¬ 
aged a smile. Bobby always pleased and 
amused her. 

“Sweet job! Thank your lucky stars you 
haven’t a sister!” Bobby stretched luxuri¬ 
ously. 

“Oh, but I have!” protested Joyce. 

“An older sister?” Bobby sat erect, sud¬ 
denly. 

Joyce nodded. 

“My heartfelt sympathies, old thing!” 


TURK’S HEAD 


127 


Joyce smiled, much more easily this time. 

“Have you and Marion been—disagree- 
mg? 

Bobby shook her head. 

“It wasn’t a disagreement; it was a regular, 
downright row.” 

“Oh, Bobby!” protested Joyce. 

“Fact,” insisted Bobby. “Marion can be 
really awfully decent, but when she gets 
imbued with social aspirations—” 

“Surely,” insisted Joyce, “Marion must be 
very popular among her friends. She is so 
pretty and has such lovely clothes.” 

“So do heaps of the others,” said Bobby. 
“Honestly, do you know what a bunch of 
girls, Marion’s age, makes me think of? A 
whole gang of cats, sitting on the back fence, 
clawing and fighting to shove one another 
off.” 

Joyce laughed merrily, spontaneously this 
time. 

“What a horrible picture, Bobby! They 
don’t seem like that to me. I quite envy 
them.” A wistful little note crept into 
Joyce’s voice. 

“You! Envy them! Say, you’re worth 
half a dozen of them, any time.” 


128 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce blushed. 

“What was your argument about? 

“I tell you it wasn’t an argument,” in¬ 
sisted Bobby. “It was a row.” 

“Very well, then, what was your row 
about? ” 

“Oh, this old Turk’s Head!” 

“Whatever that may be,” said Joyce. 

“Oh, there are secret clubs here, four of 
them, to be exact. Really, I’m surprised Miss 
Brent allows them. She generally shows 
better sense.” 

“What’s so terrible about clubs?” asked 
Joyce innocently. 

“Oh, they limit themselves to nine girls 
each. Naturally that does not include all 
the students—students, by the way, being a 
good term for us—by any means. The girls 
that belong run everything, or try to, and 
they get so exclusive that it’s painful, while 
those outside are dreadfully hurt, of course.” 

“And is Marion trying to belong to Turk’s 
Head?” 

Bobby looked at her in amazement. 

“Oh, Marion has belonged for three years; 
so has Patricia, and your precious Fran 
Evans.” 


TURK’S HEAD 


129 


Joyce’s brow wrinkled into a puzzled frown. 

“Then what was the disagreement over?” 

“I have a terrible time persuading you 
that the proper word is ‘row’,” said Bobby 
with her impish grin. “Why, the trouble is 
that Turk’s Head has three vacancies. As 
Marion’s sister, I am entitled to first choice, 
an honor which I have refused to Marion, 
with much glee and gusto. Hence, Marion is 
furious because I won’t be rushed.” 

“You refused?” Joyce was surprised. 
“WTiy?” 

“Why? A dozen reasons! Clubs are 
dumb. I’d rather be out in the great open 
spaces with the common herd. If you belong 
to a club, you get chummy with those girls 
and no others. Who wants to be penned in 
like that? Besides, Marion bosses me far 
too much—” 

“I hadn’t noticed it,” interrupted Joyce 
with a giggle. 

“—and besides, some more,” continued 
Bobby unruffled, “I can’t abide Fran Evans. 
If I’m going to belong to a club, I’m going 
to have the girls in it that I like.” Bobby 
sat erect from where she had again slumped. 
“That’s an idea. We’ll form a club, Joyce 




130 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


you and I. Any one can belong who has the 
necessary qualifications.” Bobby was partly 
jesting, partly in earnest. 

44 Just what will those qualifications be?” 
asked Joyce, who had long since abandoned 
all idea of letter-writing. 

44 Well,” said Bobby, slowly, 44 they won’t 
be money, and they won’t be clothes, and 
they won’t be beaux.” 

44 That eliminates a good deal,” said Joyce. 
“What will they be?” 

44 Oh,” Bobby gazed idly at the ceiling, 
44 character, good sportsmanship, the ability 
to get into scrapes, and out of them again; 
and, oh, yes, above all, a sense of humor. 
Great guns! There goes the gong!” 

Bobby rolled hastily off the bed and started 
for the door. 

44 Your club should be most interesting with 
all those qualifications,” teased Joyce. 

44 You’ll see. I’ll do it yet!” Bobby flew 
out the door. 

Joyce laughed as she picked up her French 
book. Bobby was a dear. When Patricia 
slipped into the room a minute later, she 
found Joyce busily studying, the expression 
on her face happy and contented. 


TURK’S HEAD 


131 


But Joyce’s troubles were by no means 
over. The next day, as she and Patricia were 
dressing for dinner, came a tap on the door, 
and Bobby Howland stuck her head in. 

“My compliments, Joyce, and are you 
dated for Hallowe’en?” 

“Hallowe’en?” gasped Joyce. 

“A week from Saturday,” grinned Bobby. 

“O my, so it is! It doesn’t seem pos¬ 
sible.” 

“Howsomever, it is!” answered Bobby. 
“And I repeat, ‘Are you dated?’ ” 

“No.” 

Bobby’s face lighted. 

“Would you and that marvellous brother 
of yours come to us, then? It will be our 
last week-end in the country. We’re closing 
the house the following Monday.” 

“Oh, I’d love to,” said Joyce. “I’ll ask 
Raoul, and let you know.” 

“K. O.” Bobby shut the door and went 
gayly on her way. 

Patricia, who had been sitting silently at 
her dressing-table, whirled at the sound of 
the closing door. 

“You and Bobby Howland are getting 
pretty chummy, aren’t you?” she asked. 


132 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Yes, 55 beamed Joyce. “Isn’t she a dear? 55 

Patricia did not answer this, and Joyce 
looked at her in surprise. 

“Don’t you like Bobby Howland? 55 she 
asked. 

“Yes. 55 Patricia was noncommittal. “Where 
did she become so well acquainted with 
Raoul?” 

“We spent a week-end with them at their 
country home. I thought I had told you, 
Patricia.” 

“Hardly the kind of country you’re used 
to, was it, Joyce?” 

Patricia’s tone was unkind, and Joyce 
looked at her quickly, badly hurt for a minute; 
then again she recalled Mrs. Strickland’s 
warning about Patricia. 

“No,” she said quietly, “it was vastly 
different, as you well know, Patricia.” 

A faint flush stained Patricia’s cheeks and 
died away again. There was a strained 
silence in the room while the girls continued 
to dress. In the silence the dinner gong rang 
startlingly loud. 

“Hurry up, Patricia, we’ll be late,” cried 
Joyce gayly, glad of an opportunity to break 


TURK’S HEAD 


183 


the unpleasant stillness. She caught up her 
one and only scarf and started for the door. 

Patricia, who was far from ready, looked up, 
anger still glowing in her eyes. 

“Don’t be such a boob!” 

“Boob!” gasped Joyce, startled as much at 
the word, as to find that Patricia was still angry. 

“Of course! It’s only the scared nobodies, 
the girls who have no standing here, and 
little sense, either, that rush here and there 
every time the gong rings!” 

“But,” gasped Joyce, “I thought that was 
what we were supposed to do.” 

“Don’t be such an ignoramus!” snapped 
Patricia, and turned her back. 

Hurt, blinded by the tears that would come, 
Joyce opened the door and stumbled out 
into the hall. Why had she ever come to 
Miss Brent’s? Was Patricia going to be like 
this all year? She didn’t seem like Patricia. 

So blinded was Joyce by her hurt and her 
tears, that she did not look where she was 
going. So it happened that she ran straight 
into another girl who was hurrying up the 
hall. 

“Oh, I beg your—” began Joyce, but was 
cut short. 


134 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Why, Joyce Hunter! You here! How 
delightful!” 

Joyce looked up quickly through her tears. 

“Why, Mary Taintor!” she exclaimed 
joyously. “When did you come? I didn’t 
know you were here. Are you going to stay? ” 

“Indeed I’m going to stay. I’m a little 
later than usual this year. Just got in, 
heard about Patricia’s illness, and was just 
rushing up to see her. I didn’t know about 
you.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” It seemed 
to Joyce suddenly as though all her troubles 
had melted. 

“Well, bless you heart!” Mary slipped 
an arm around Joyce, pretending not to see 
her tears. “Come along back while I greet 
Patricia.” 

“But the dinner gong has rung,” expostu¬ 
lated Joyce. 

“Oh, I’ll take the blame,” answered Mary 
easily. “I’m forgiven much my first day or 
two.” 

Reluctantly Joyce turned and re-entered 
the room she had so recently quitted. To 
her utter surprise, she found Patricia flung 
across the bed—and in tears! 



TURK’S HEAD 


135 


“Why, Patricia!” Joyce rushed to her 
alarmed. “What’s the matter? Are you 
ill?” 

Mary, wise beyond her years, stood still in 
the doorway. 

“No—no,” Patricia’s voice was muffled. 

“What is wrong?” Joyec was distracted. 

Patricia sat up and wiped her eyes. 

“Oh, Joyce, I’m such a beast, and I don’t 
mean to be, really, only sometimes—Why, 
Mary Taintor!” 

In a flash Patricia was off the bed and 
hugging Mary. 

“The happy family is all here,” said Mary, 
as she hugged Patricia in return. “I’ve a 
million things to tell you, Patricia, and a 
million more to ask, but I really think we 
should hurry down to dinner. The gong 
rang nearly ten minutes ago, and Joyce 
looks really worried.” 

“I’ll hurry and wash my eyes, and dab on 
a little powder,” said Patricia, the old sweet 
Patricia that Joyce knew so well. “Joyce is 
the promptest thing. As for me, you know 
I’m always getting marks for being tardy.” 

“The queer part of it is,” said Joyce, “is 
that tardiness is a bad fault of mine, one I 


1S6 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


promised myself never to commit here at Miss 
Brent’s.” 

“We’ll take the blame this time,” said 
Mary. “Patricia,” she called, “I’m to be a 
boarder again this year.” 

“Gorgeous!” said Patricia, appearing with 
her face shining, partly from joy, and partly 
from scrubbing. “When did you get here?” 

“About half an hour ago.” 

“Where have you been this summer?” 
asked Joyce. 

“Dad and I hunted bears in the Canadian 
Rockies the first part of the summer,” ex¬ 
plained Mary. “Then Mother came on, and 
we all took the trip up to Alaska.” 

“How marvellous!” sighed Patricia, who 
was now putting the finishing touches to her 
toilet. 

4 c Mighty interesting, ’ ’ said Mary. ‘ ‘ I never 
saw so much salmon and so many wrecks in 
my life.” 

“Wrecks!” ejaculated Joyce and Patricia 
together. 

“Yes, every once in a while we would see a 
half-sunk boat, and our captain, who, by the 
way, was a rare soul, would tell us about it. 
He had some tales that would make your 


TURK’S HEAD 


137 


blood run cold. I’ll relay some of them to 
you later on. Ready, Patricia?” 

Talking and chattering, the girls finally 
went down. They entered the dining-room 
in an unusual stillness. Miss Hodges was 
standing by her table, announcing that 
basket-ball practice was to start the next day. 

Joyce hurried to her table, all excitement, 
but she found most of the girls rather bored 
with the topic of basket-ball. Philo Cornish 
alone was interested in the subject. 

“Did you ever play?” she asked Joyce. 

“I did play some, last year, but that was 
the first time.” 

“Be sure to turn out to-morrow.” 

Joyce nodded and then gave her attention 
to the general conversation, which was, for 
the most part, of Hallowe’en, and of the 
party which was ordinarily held at Miss 
Brent’s home on that night. 

As Joyce was leaving the table, some one 
tapped her on the shoulder. Joyce looked up 
in surprise, for the tapping had been done 
by Fran Evans. Without saying a word, 
Fran dropped something small and hard into 
Joyce’s hand. Joyce was so busy examining 
the strange object that she did not even 


138 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


notice Fran slip away. The object was 
small and flat, made apparently of deep-red 
sealing-wax. On one side was the impression 
of a very fierce Turk’s head, turban and all; 
on: the other side, scratched evidently with a 
pin, were the words: “This very day, nine- 
thirty, Kismet!” 

Jovce looked around in bewilderment. The 

c* 

words meant absolutely nothing to her. 
What could they mean? The only person 
who could explain at all was Patricia. Joyce 
sought her at once. 

Patricia looked pleased when she saw the 
object in Joyce’s hand. 

“Explain? Of course I can. It’s a bid to 
the Turk’s Head meeting,—a rush, in other 
words.” 

“But where? When?” asked Joyce, who 
was not especially thrilled. 

“This very day at nine-thirty! To-night, 
of course, although I haven’t been notified 
yet.” 

“Where do we meet?” insisted Joyce, 
hardly knowing whether she was pleased or 
not. 

“Kismet. That’s Fran Evans. The meet¬ 
ing must be in her room.” 


TURK’S HEAD 


139 


In spite of her doubts, Joyce went to 
the meeting. Special permission had been 
granted to Fran Evans to entertain the club 
from nine-thirty to ten-thirty. Joyce went 
under Patricia’s guidance, and Fran Evans 
was most cordial. Besides Patricia and Fran 
Evans and Marion Howland, there were three 
other girls already members of Turk’s Head— 
Isobel Geoffrey, Nancy Stevens, and Gladys 
Heminway. Joyce was introduced to these 
girls, but the only name she retained was that 
of Gladys Heminway. Gladys was a girl 
so pretty, so dainty, so beautifully dressed, 
that for a minute Joyce wondered if ever 
before she had seen such a raving beauty. 
Then she turned loyally to Patricia, and, 
after a second look at her, decided that though 
Gladys Heminway might be pretty, she 
decidedly lacked a quality which was much 
in evidence in Patricia. Joyce pondered 
what this quality could be. Was it ability? 
Humor? Joyce decided finally that Patricia’s 
face showed animation and character, two 
things which the doll-like Gladys lacked 
entirely. 

The three new girls who were evidently 
being rushed were Joyce, Helen Trowbridge, 


140 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


and Bobby Howland; a wider diversity 
would have been hard to find. 

“Doesn’t Mary Taintor belong?” Joyce 
managed to whisper to Patricia. 

Patricia shook her head. 

“Why not?” 

“Tell you later,” answered Patricia. 

Joyce’s attention was distracted by a 
giggle on the other side of her. 

“I see you’ve fallen a victim,” said Bobby 
in a low tone. 

“I thought you had refused to be rushed!” 
Joyce spoke in the same low tone. 

“I only came because I wanted to see how 
you’d react.” 

Before Joyce could answer that, the meet¬ 
ing was called to order. Fran Evans pre¬ 
sided. The business meeting was very short, 
being mostly the roll-call, but it gave Joyce 
time to gaze about the room. It was a 
room similar in many ways to the one Joyce 
and Patricia occupied. The one feature that 
was outstandingly different in Joyce’s eyes 
was the number of photographs. On desk, 
on dressing-table, from silver frames and 
ivory frames, men’s faces looked forth, never 
any two alike. 


TURK’S HEAD 


141 


“Gracious,” Joyce whispered to Bobby 
Howland as soon as noise began again, “I 
didn’t know there were so many men in the 
world.” 

“Fran’s little boy-chums,” Bobby made 
a long face. “Wait till they get started 
talking!” 

Joyce did not have long to wait. Fran 
Evans announced that since this was a social 
meeting, lunch would be served promptly. 
It was a dainty lunch, and Joyce wondered 
how Fran had been able to smuggle in so 
much food, which, as she knew, was strictly 
against school rules. 

“Miss Hodges thinks we can rush without 
serving food! Imagine!” announced Fran. 

“What Hodge-Podge doesn’t know won’t 
hurt her,” simpered Gladys Heminway. 

“And there’s plenty she doesn't know,” said 
Bobby grimly. 

“These cakes are delicious.” Helen Trow¬ 
bridge was in her element. “Fran dearest, 
where did you get them?” 

“Yes, Fran dearest ,” mimicked Bobby 
Howland, who made no secret of her dislike 
for Helen Trowbridge, “do tell us! Surely 
you didn’t buy them at Alderby’s?” 


142 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Fran Evans gave Bobby a withering look, 
but Bobby refused to wither. 

“And who is this raving beauty?” Bobby 
struck a pose before a large, silver-framed 
photograph of a young man. “I’ll bet he 
has his hair marcelled!” 

“That,” answered Helen Trowbridge with 
all the frigidness at her command, “is my 
cousin!” 

“A thousand pardons!” Bobby dropped a 
deep curtsy. “I might have known!” 

This remark left Helen Trowbridge in some 
doubt as to its exact meaning, so she turned 
away. 

In spite of Bobby’s presence and assistance, 
Joyce was soon lost in the whirl of conver¬ 
sation. Accustomed to, and interested in, 
such wholesome things as horseback riding, 
picnics, swimming, camping and hikes, even, 
frequently, house-work, economy, and the 
care of younger brothers, Joyce was com¬ 
pletely at sea in the talk of these girls. Even 
as Bobby had prophesied, the talk was all 
of boys and dress, hair-dressing, new hair¬ 
cuts, new-style permanent waves, the newest, 
most expensive powders and perfumes, and 
again boys, silly, romantic remarks about 


TURK’S HEAD 143 

them. Joyce was relieved when ten-thirty 
arrived. 

“Well,” Patricia asked when she and Joyce 
were once more alone in their room. “What 
do you think of Turk’s Head?” 

“What do you do? What do you accom¬ 
plish?” Joyce tactfully avoided a direct 
answer. 

“Oh, we’re just a social club. Really 
Turk’s Head is hard to make. It’s considered 
quite an honor here at Miss Brent’s to get 
a bid to it.” 

“Why doesn’t Mary Taintor belong?” 
asked Joyce suddenly. “She is certainly 
popular and prominent here.” 

Patricia hesitated a short minute. 

“Mary won’t belong,” she answered 
briefly. “She has been bid twice.” 

“Why won’t she?” asked Joyce, though 
she thought she knew. 

Patricia shrugged. 

“She’s been very sweet about it. She 
said that all the other clubs asked her, too, 
and since she couldn’t join one group without 
eliminating the others, she just wouldn’t 
join any.” 

Although Joyce said no word aloud, she 


144 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


secretly aplpauded Mary Taintor’s stand, 
and firmly decided to do likewise. 

“Although,” she thought whimsically to 
herself, “I shall not be bid to all four, most 
likely not even to one!” 


CHAPTER X 


A LETTEE FROM SALLY 

The first basket-ball practice was next day. 
All aglow, Joyce went to the gymnasium, 
determined to make at least second team, and 
even hoping for a place on the first. There 
were a great many girls there ahead of her, for, 
despite the apathy at Joyce’s table, a large 
number were interested in basket-ball, and it 
was considered a real honor to make the team. 

Joyce sat down to watch proceedings, and 
Philo Cornish came over and sat beside her. 

“I’m glad to see you turned out,” she said 
to Joyce. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it!” Joyce had her 
usual enthusiasm. 

“I do hope I can make second team this 
year. I was an awful dub at this game last 
year/’ 

Joyce looked at her in surprise. Philo 
Cornish was a large girl, very strong and very 
athletic in appearance. 

“Aren’t you on the first team? ” asked Joyce, 

showing the surprise she felt. 

145 


146 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“My gracious, no! Even Patricia is only 
on the second team, and I think she is one of 
the best players.” 

“Patricia is a mighty good player. How 
does it happen she isn’t on first? ” 

“The other girls are better, that’s all. Miss 
Brockwell is a very fair coach and referee.” 

Joyce gulped and her heart sank a little. 
If Patricia was only on the second team, where 
would she be? Nevertheless, Joyce was a 
plucky person, and she determined to do her 
best. She watched carefully while the other 
girls tried out, trying to see where they failed, 
what mistakes they made, so that she might 
avoid them. 

“Although,” Joyce reflected, “I can prob¬ 
ably find a whole list of new mistakes, all by 
myself.” 

The girls who had been on the first team the 
previous year were called to the floor. There 
were only three of them, since four of the team 
had been Seniors and had graduated. 

Miss Brockwell pulled a wry face. 

“This is not a very heavy foundation. Let’s 
see—Alice, you were guard, weren’t you?” 

“Yes, Miss Brockwell,” answered a small, 
dark girl who was very quick in her actions. 



A LETTER FROM SALLY 


147 


“And you two were side-centers. H’m! 
Patricia Strickland, come up and play center 
on first team; Frances Evans, as forward. 
Philo Cornish, you may try out as the other 
guard”—Miss Brockwell paused and looked 
about. Joyce noticed the look of happiness 
on Philo’s face and was glad for her. “Marion 
Howland, do you think you could play for¬ 
ward?” Miss Brockwell finished her search. 

“I’d like to try, Miss Brockwell,” replied 
Marion. 

“All right. Does every one understand the 
line-up?” She went over it briefly. “Now 
for the second team.” 

Joyce’s heart beat quickly as she eagerly 
watched Miss Brockwell’s selections for the 
vacancies on the second team. And it beat 
harder than ever when she was selected for 
temporary center against Patricia. It was 
the one place where Joyce thought she might 
have a chance, for she had played all last win¬ 
ter against Patricia, and knew most of her 
moves. The line-up was finally completed, 
and the whistle blown for a start. But luck 
was against Joyce. The floor was strange to 
her, and one which Patricia knew well. She 
missed the ball entirely on the first jump, and 


148 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


grew a trifle flustered. She tried doubly hard 
after that, and, instead of improving matters, 
made them worse. She caught the ball once 
after several minutes’ strenuous practice, while 
she was almost in the middle of the floor. 
Instead of passing it to her forward, as Miss 
Brockwell was instructing her to do, she tried 
for a spectacular play. She aimed for the 
basket, but, in her hurry and excitement, the 
ball went in the wrong direction entirely. 
Even had it gone straight, it would have fallen 
far short of it’s goal. As it was, Philo 
Cornish easily caught it, tossed it to Patricia, 
who, with splendid team-work, passed it over 
Joyce’s prompt guard to Marion Howland; 
in two seconds the ball slid through the 
bottomless basket, swishing the fringe as it 
went. 

With flushed face, Joyce went back to 
position, determined to do better. But she did 
not have the opportunity. Miss Brockwell 
commanded the girls to rest a few minutes. 
When they were again called to the floor, 
Bobby Howland was in Joyce’s place. 

Bobby, though younger than most of the 
girls, was almost as tall as Joyce, and naturally 
athletic. She played a splendid game, even 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


149 


though she was comparatively new in basket¬ 
ball. With a sinking heart, Joyce watched her. 

Again the whistle was blown for rest and 
Philo Cornish, breathing hard, dropped down 
beside Joyce. 

“Hard luck!” she offered consolingly, “but 
don’t give up yet.” 

“She’s a better player than I am,” Joyce 
swallowed hard. 

“She’s a corker! I hope she doesn’t beat me 
out on the first team.” 

“Oh, there’s no danger of that!” protested 
Joyce. 

“Y r ou never can tell,” commented the other 
girl. “I’m going into the pool directly prac¬ 
tice is over. Do you want to come?” 

Despite her disappointment, Joyce was 
elated. Philo Cornish was an Old Girl, a 
senior, and very popular despite her queer 
name and frank manners. There was no 
pretense about Philo. If she was your friend, 
she was your friend through thick and thin. 

“I’d love to,” answered Joyce. “May I 
bring Bobby Howland, too?” 

“Our mutual rival?” Philo laughed good- 
naturedly. “By all means!” 

The indoor pool was not large, but it was 


150 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


beautifully constructed and tiled. Swimming 
there didn’t seem like real swimming to Joyce, 
but she enjoyed it. She was not an expert 
swimmer, but she loved the sport; moreover, 
her stroke had greatly improved last summer 
at camp. 

The three girls were alone in the pool. The 
others had gone under showers, and dashed off 
to various appointments. 

“I tried to get Patricia to come in, but she 
wouldn’t,” said Joyce. 

“She and Marion have important business 
elsewhere. Turks’ Head, I suppose. I accused 
Marion of being afraid of getting her marcel 
wet and she was furious,” Bobby giggled. 

“I thought her hair was naturally curly!” 
exclaimed Joyce in surprise. 

“It is. That’s why she gets so furious when 
I call it a marcel, but I must have some re¬ 
venge for my own straight locks.” Bobby 
shook her thick, luxuriant hair from her eyes. 

“Do you belong to a club?” Joyce asked 
Philo. 

Philo shook her head in the negative. 

“That’s a terrible question to ask a girl?” 
Bobby informed Joyce. “Luckily it’s Philo 
Cornish. She and Mary Taintor are the only 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


151 


two girls in school strong-minded enough to 
refuse bids.” 

“ How about yourself? ” asked Joyce quickly. 

Bobby made a face at her. 

“I haven’t been bid, yet. Goodness only 
knows what I’ll do if I am. Race you to the 
end of the tank and back.” 

“It won’t be long now,” Philo Cornish 
lazily stroked them, keeping easily abreast 
of Joyce’s strenuous best, “before practice 
will begin for the swimming-races.” 

“I thought they didn’t come off until Feb¬ 
ruary, and it isn’t Hallowe’en yet,” said Bobby 
Howland. 

“They come off in February, but the girls, 
the wise ones anyway, will begin to practise 
soon.” 

“I’m going to start to-morrow,” said Joyce, 
enthusiastically. 

“Why not to-day?” teased Bobby. 

“Yes, come on,” said Philo. “I’ll show you 
a few of the stunts they pull.” 

So absorbed were the three girls in their 
swimming that they were nearly late for din¬ 
ner, and had to rush at topmost speed in order 
to be ready when the gong sounded. 

In the morning mail, a few days later, Joyce 


152 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


received two notes; one bearing a New York 
postmark, the other that of Louisville. Glanc¬ 
ing hurriedly through them both, she ran to 
find Patricia. 

“Oh, Patricia, do listen! Here’s a letter 
from Sally Orcutt. She’s just as funny as 
ever.” 

“ What does she say?” Patricia was eager 
to know. 

“She begins: 

“ ‘Hello, Joyce. Aren’t you the lucky 
thing to be in New York with Patricia and 
that brother of yours? You know he is almost 
as nice as you.’ 

“Then she goes on to say that Granny 
Orcutt has taken a sudden notion to go up and 
see Lee Davis at Yale—” 

“Is Lee Davis at Yale? I didn’t know 
that!” Patricia interrupted in suprise. 

“Yes, he decided on Yale.” 

“Why, Joyce Hunter! How did you know 
that?” 

•* / KAJ v. * 

Joyce blushed a trifle. 

“I hear from him occasionally:” 

“Aha!” teased Patricia. “Wait till I tell 
Ray on you.” 



A LETTER FROM SALLY 


153 


cc No can do.” Joyce laughed good-naturedly. 
“Ray knows all about it. Now will you 
listen to what Sally says?” 

“I’m squelched!” admitted Patricia. 

“ Granny Orcutt lias taken a notion to go see 
Lee Davis. Sally is wild to go, too, of course, 
but she can’t leave school; so Mrs. Davis is 
bringing Granny, and they may stay for a 
month or so. Sally hopes and thinks and 
prays that they will. In that case she, mean¬ 
ing Sally, is to be allowed to come up for the 
Yale-Princeton football game, and if she 
comes, she will stop here long enough to say 
‘Hello’ to us. She sends heaps of love to you, 
and asks if you remember how you insulted 
Lee by mistaking him for a chauffeur.” 

Joyce went off into gales of laughter at the 
memory, and Patricia joined her. 

“She’s the lucky one!” Patricia sobered 
finally. “I’ve always longed to see a Yale- 
Princeton game, but I never have been able to 
do so.” 

“I love football, too,” said Joyce, “but I’ve 
never seen anything but a local high-school 
game.” 

“I’ve seen some big ones, and they are thril¬ 
ling. I’ve always wanted to see a Yale- 


154 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Princeton. It’s to be in the Yale Bowl this 
year, too. Lucky Sally!” 

“Well, the other one is from Ray.” Joyce 
unfolded the sheet covered with her brother’s 
angular handwriting. “It’s about going to 
the Howlands’, for Hallowe’en.” 

“What does he say?” asked Patricia, 
eagerly. She, too, had been invited to the 
Howland party. 

“He says,” Joyce giggled, “that after sev¬ 
eral vain attempts over the ’phone, he finally 
decided to write me. Then he goes on: 

“ ‘I called the school, and that was busy. 
I called the Strickland home, and that was 
busy; then I asked Central in as plaintive a 
voice as I could assume if she had any num¬ 
bers that weren’t busy. I said I could use 
almost any of them. Of course, she got huffy, 
as I suppose she had a right to do; hence, 
this note.’ 

“ ‘I’m not sure about the Howland party. 
I should like very much to go, but I’m not 
sure I can. There is a short trip ahead of me 
again, up to Springfield and New Haven. 
These trips about the country were some¬ 
thing I hadn’t counted on. I enjoy them 
immensely, except for the fact that I miss 
night-school while I’m away, but I find plenty 
of time to study.’ ” 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


155 


“Dad says he’s doing marvellously,” in¬ 
terrupted Patricia. 

“When does your dad sail?” asked Joyce 
suddenly. 

“ Not for two or three weeks. He isn’t sure 
himself. What else does Ray say ? ” 

“That’s about all. If his trip doesn’t in¬ 
terfere, he’s going to the Howlands’. He ends 
his note: ‘Business first! Ray’.” 

Patricia looked a bit disappointed. 

“I suppose he’s right, but it won’t be any 
fun at the Howlands’ without Ray.” 

Although Joyce vowed not to miss a single 
basket-ball practice, she missed the very next 
one. Her class in Appreciation of Art had 
advanced far enough, in the teacher’s opinion, 
for a trip to the Metropolitan Art Museum. 
Poor Joyce’s head reeled with unfamiliar, un¬ 
pronounceable names: Cimabue, Giotto, Fra 
Filippo Lippi, Filippino Lippi—which was 
which. Which of the Lippis was the father, 
which the son? 

Joyce never could remember until she ran 
across Browning’s delightful.poem of “Fra 
Filippo Lippi”. She had been browsing 
around the school library during a spare half- 
hour. Catching sight of the name, Fra 


156 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Filippo Lippi, Joyce paused to investigate. 
Then, having started the poem, she found a 
comfortable chair and curled herself in it. 
Line by line she dissected the poem, chuckling 
over Browning’s apt humor, reconstructing 
in her own mind the whole scene, helped 
greatly by her recent study of the artist’s life. 
So interested did she become that she did not 
even hear the gong that summoned the Art 
class. Ten minutes later she came out of her 
trance, glanced at the clock, gasped, and fled 
to her class. 

Miss Keating looked up in disapproval as 
Joyce entered. 

“ You are aware, are you not, Miss Hunter, 
that tardiness to class carries a penalty?” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Joyce, impulsively, 
“but I ran across a poem about Fra Filippo 
Lippi, and I got so interested reading it that 
I never even heard the gong.” 

Miss Keating looked at her in faint surprise. 

“I’m always glad to know my pupils are 
interested. What was the poem?” 

Although unable to recite the lines, Joyce 
gave the gist of the poem; how Fra Filippo 
Lippi was caught, a vagrant away from his 
work, and was surrounded by the watch, the 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


157 


policemen of that day; how he defended him¬ 
self; told how he became a monk at the age of 
ten, renouncing the world rather than lose a 
mouthful of bread; how his first efforts were 
drawn on the convent walls; how the minor 
monks admired his work, but the prior ob¬ 
jected because the figures were too life-like and 
real. So spirited was Joyce’s recital that the 
class, usually a languid one, picked up interest 
and listened. 

44 I’m glad you reminded me of that poem. 
I had forgotten it,” said Miss Keating when 
Joyce had finished. 44 Girls, this is the sort 
of interest I like to see displayed. See how 
real Miss Hunter has made Fra Filippo Lippi 
seem. I think, under the circumstances, Miss 
Hunter, that I will overlook your tardiness, 
since you were really studying for this class, 
only see that it doesn’t happen again.” 

Joyce sank into her seat with a sigh of thank¬ 
fulness. She was trying so hard to have no 
tardy marks. 

44 And,” continued Miss Keating, 44 that is 
just why I have planned this trip for Wednes¬ 
day to the Art Museum. Remember, attend¬ 
ance at this trip is as compulsory as attendance 
at class. Illness is the only excuse. The time 


158 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


will be different, of course. We shall leave here 
at three, next Wednesday. Every one remem¬ 
ber that. And now, to continue our lesson. 
Miss Hall, you may tell us why the early 
artists drew such wooden, unnatural figures.” 

Wednesday whirled around all too quickly. 
Joyce presented herself at the appointed start¬ 
ing-place, despite the fact that the second 
basket-ball practice had been announced for 
that afternoon, and she would have much 
preferred to be there. 

Joyce felt that she looked very well in 
her new street costume, but apparently her 
opinion was not shared by the other girls. 
They paired off in groups of two or three, 
leaving Joyce solitary. Holding her head high, 
pretending not to mind, Joyce caught up with 
Miss Keating, who was at the head of the 
procession. 

“How are we going?” she asked. 

“We will catch a cross-town bus over to the 
Avenue,” said Miss Keating, “and then 
probably walk to the Museum.” 

Despite the fact that the other girls ignored 
her, Joyce enjoyed herself immensely. She 
climbed to the top of the heavy, ponderous 
bus, even though the air was chilly. The 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


159 


other girls huddled inside, but Joyce, practi¬ 
cally alone on top, breathed deeply of the in¬ 
vigorating air. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes 
sparkled, and she forgot the hurt she had felt 
at the attitude of the others. Below her was 
incessant movement,—cars whirling by, people 
hurrying along. Just across the aisle sat the 
only other occupant of the upper part of the 
bus, a woman, who was having a difficult time 
with a fractious small dog which refused to 
keep quiet, but barked and yapped and wiggled 
incessantly. So absorbed was Joyce in this 
small comedy that she jumped when a man 
loomed over her and wordlessly poked a 
metal instrument close to her face. 

“O my gracious!” ejaculated Joyce. “I 
thought you were a hold-up man.” She looked 
up with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Fare, please!” The man’s face was as 
bored as his voice. 

Flurried, Joyce hunted for a dime. She 
began to wonder if people in this great city 
has lost all sense of emotion. She wondered 
more when she heard the woman across the 
aisle talking to her dog. 

“Any one would think it was a child!” 
thought Joyce, in disgust. “Goodness knows 


160 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


I love Bingo,—we all do,—but we don’t call 
him our Sweet Tootums! Oh, I’d like to see 
Timmie and Bobbie and Mother and Dad. 
If it wasn’t for Ray, I’d turn around and run 
right home” 

But Joyce’s wave of homesickness passed 
quickly. The Metropolitan Art Gallery filled 
her with awe and bewilderment. They did 
not stop on the ground floor, but ascended at 
once to view the pictures. As in a maze, 
Joyce wandered from room to room, trying to 
grasp Miss Keating’s explanations of why this 
or that was art,—explanations of line, color, 
masses, balance, until Joyce’s head whirled 
indeed. Few of the pictures appealed to her, 
and those she most admired, Miss Keating 
dismissed with a wave of her hand. 

Unheeding, Joyce came to a full and com¬ 
plete stop before a large canvas. It was a 
picture of the sea, of wild, tumbling, blue 
waves. Joyce had never seen the ocean, but 
something in the wild free beauty of the 
picture struck a chord deep within her. En¬ 
tranced, she stood gazing her fill. Suddenly 
she became aware of silence about her. She 
looked around quickly. The room where she 
stood was empty. 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


161 


Panic-stricken, she fled through the first 
door, only to find no sign of Miss Keating or 
the girls. Door after door, room after room 
Joyce entered, becoming more and more 
alarmed. There was no sign of any familiar 
person, and she realized full well that she 
would never be able to find her way back to 
Miss Brent’s. She was not versed in the art 
of taxicabbing. Where to find the bus, where to 
go, where to get off, were vague questions in her 
mind. What to do? She?ra/s£fmd MissKeating. 

Joyce began to run now. She stopped 
suddenly when she realized that she was once 
more back before her picture of the boundless 
sea. She stopped long enough to shake her 
fist at it. 

“ All your fault!” she said, and then blushed, 
realizing that she had spoken aloud; realizing, 
too, that a man and a girl stood before the 
picture, as interested as she had been. 

The girl whirled in surprise, and then the 
surprise was mutual. 

“Joyce!” 

“Why, Mary Taintor! How do you hap¬ 
pen to be here?” 

“I told you I was coming. Don’t you re¬ 
member?” 


162 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I’d forgotten,” Joyce looked shamefaced. 

“You know Dad? About once a week we 
come over here, and I have a dreadful time 
dragging him past this picture.” 

Joyce smiled at Mr. Taintor. 

“You don’t seem to be dragging very hard.” 

He was a tall man, splendidly built, with 
hair a little more than grey at the temples, 
very distinguished-looking. 

“Mary is an indulgent daughter,” he said. 
“This is Joyce Hunter, isn’t it?” 

Joyce’s eyes suddenly misted. Although 
this man was entirely unlike her father, he 
made her think of him. For the second time 
that day a wave of homesickness swept over 
Joyce. Although Mr. Taintor appeared not 
to notice, he turned quickly to Mary. 

“Couldn’t Miss Joyce join us? Your 
mother will be waiting for us. We really 
should go on.” 

“Oh, Joyce,” Mary’s eyes danced, “that 
would be perfect. Mother, Dad, and I are 
going down-town to dinner and on to a very 
special concert given by a friend of his. Would 
you care to come?” 

“I’d love to.” Some of the homesick longing 
in Joyce’s heart crept into her voice. 


A LETTER FROM SALLY 


163 


“You two wait here. I’ll dash off and find 
a ’phone some place. I’ll ask Miss Brent her¬ 
self if you may.” 

Mary was gone, leaving a rather shy Joyce 
behind. But that shyness wore off very 
quickly under Mr. Taintor’s kindness. They 
wandered about, gazing at pictures hap¬ 
hazardly, and Joyce was now as interested as 
earlier she had been bored. Mr. Taintor had 
the knack of sensing the artist’s intentions and 
feelings, and conveying those feelings to Joyce. 
Now and again he brought in little anecdotes 
of the artists’ lives, or occasionally experiences 
from his own extensive travels. It seemed no 
time at all before a breathless Mary was back 
with them. 

“I didn’t mean to be so long. She says you 
may, Joyce. We’ll have to hurry. We’re 
late now. Mother never likes to wait.” 

The message was given breathlessly, and 
it was slightly confused, but entirely satis¬ 
factory. 

“Oh,” Joyce paused. “Do I look well 
enough to go to a concert?” 

“ Bless your heart! You look good to me! ’ ’ 
Mary gave her arm a little squeeze. “It’s a 
very informal affair, anyway.” 


CHAPTER XI 

Hallowe’en 

There was certainly disappointment ahead 
for Patricia. Always before she had at¬ 
tended Miss Brent’s as a day pupil, and 
she had forgotten that attendance at the 
Hallowe’en party given by the school was 
absolutely compulsory for the girls who 
boarded. It was one of the big affairs of the 
school year. Miss Brent opened her own 
private home to the girls, and every one was 
expected to attend out of courtesy. For the 
day girls there was sometimes an excuse to be 
absent, but for the boarding pupils there was 
no excuse. 

The night before Hallowe’en Joyce rushed 
into her room to find Marion and Bobby 
Howland, Frances Evans, and Patricia hold¬ 
ing an indignation meeting. 

“This school makes me sick!” Marion’s 
voice was petulant. “I’m not even to be 
allowed to go to my own home. Feature 
that! And we close the house Monday. 
It’s utterly ridiculous. I told Miss Hodges 
so!” 


164 


HALLOWE’EN 


165 


“Marion!” mocked Bobby. “You’re a 
regular liero-ine. I never knew you were so 
brave. What did Hodge-Podge say?” 

Marion flushed. 

“Well, of course, I wasn’t rude enough to 
say it exactly like that. I told her I was 
very much disappointed, that Mother had 
planned on having us, that there was to be 
quite a house-party.” 

“Oh,” interrupted Bobby, “that’s different. 
I know what reply Miss Hodges made to 
that!” 

“ What, Miss Smarty? ” Marion was angry. 

Bobby jumped to her feet, assuming a 
pose exactly like Miss Hodges’ usual one. 

“My dear girl, you realize that loyalty 
to your school is the first essential. Aside 
from that, this is at Miss Brent’s own home. 
Surely you wouldn’t be rude enough to refuse 
her? I’m sure your mother would want 
you to go to Miss Brent’s. Your house- 
party can easily be postponed until some 
other time.” 

Airily she waved her hand, dismissing 
Marion’s plans and Marion’s mother’s plans 
as nothing at all. 

“Bobby, you goose!” Patricia laughed 


166 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


merrily. “I can just see Miss Hodges 
saying it. So I imagine there will be no 
week-end with the Howlands. No one is 
more disappointed than I am.” 

“Yes, there is.” Frances Evans was pet¬ 
ulant. “We’d made such plans, hadn’t we, 
Marion?” 

“Yes, of course.” Marion looked worried. 
“I don’t know how I’m going to arrange—” 

“Tell little sister,” teased Bobby. “She’s 
the best little arranger in town.” 

“Well,” Marion hesitated, “Roy Walker 
promised to meet us. We were going to 
drive out with him in his new roadster, and—” 

“Leave the rest of us to get there as best 
we might. So sweet of you, sister dear.” 

“You’ve always been able to take care of 
yourself!” snapped Marion. 

“And always shall be, thank you. If Roy 
Walker is mixed up in this, I resign.” 

“Thank you,” said Marion. “That’s a 
relief.” 

Bobby made a face at her sister. 

“And as far as I can see, Marion, you 
might as well resign, too. You’ll simply 
have to be present at Miss Brent’s.” 

Marion raised her eyebrows. 



HALLOWE’EN 


167 


“I have no intention of being present at 
Miss Brent’s, nor has Fran. How about 
you, Patricia?” 

Patricia hesitated, looked uncomfortable. 

“Joyce,” said Bobby, “you and I will 
have to keep up the family reputation. There 
goes that gong again! Come on, every one.” 

Joyce was bursting to ask Patricia what 
Marion had meant by her last remark, but 
Patricia had assumed one of her lofty atti¬ 
tudes, and Joyce, wisely, kept silent. 

She discovered, however, at least an ink¬ 
ling of the plan the next afternoon. Both 
Marion Howland and Fran Evans were 
suddenly ill—ill enough to go to bed. 

“They must have eaten something that 
disagreed with them,” said Patricia, smiling 
wryly. 

“Didn’t it disagree with you, too?” asked 
Joyce. 

“Strange as it may seem, it didn’t.” 

Joyce smiled at her in relief. 

“Then you’ll be able to go to Miss Brent’s? ” 

“Quite able—worse luck!” 

“Isn’t it fun? At Miss Brent’s?” 

“Oh, yes,” Patricia answered, “it’s a nice 
party. These Hallowe’en affairs are always 



168 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


delightful, but I did want very much to go 
to the Howlands’. It’s always such a lark. 
Things are bound to happen there. Ray is 
going out with Roy Walker and the girls 
isn’t he?” 

“Oh, no! Didn’t I tell you?” Joyce was 
surprised. “Ray ’phoned me late last night. 
I thought I told you.” 

“What did he say?” Patricia’s spirits 
suddenly rose. 

“He said,” giggled Joyce, “that he was 
overcame .” 

“Why?” Patricia giggled, too, at Ray’s 
intentional misuse of the word. 

“He got me on the ’phone so easily and so 
quickly that he was speechless.” 

“Goose!” ejaculated Patricia. 

“Isn’t he? Then he grew sensible and 
told me that he had to take that trip to Spring- 
field. He wouldn’t be back until Monday 
or Tuesday, so he couldn’t go to the 
Howlands’. He was so disappointed, but 
when I told him that neither you nor I nor 
Bobby was going, either, he seemed quite 
cheered. Oh, quite . I thought I had told 
you last night, but evidently I was too 
sleepy to mention it.” 


HALLOWE’EN 


169 


“Ray is mighty nice to you,” said Patricia 
thoughtfully. 

“He’s a dear,” admitted Joyce. “If I 
ever do fall in love, it will have to be some 
one just like Ray. What are you going to 
wear to-night?” 

“Oh!” Patricia came suddenly out of 
a trance. “I don’t know. What are you? 
Let’s look them over.” 

Even as Patricia said, the party at Miss 
Brent’s was delightful. Miss Brent still lived 
in the home of her ancestors, an old-fashioned 
brick mansion, far below the present residen¬ 
tial district. The school was well uptown, 
and Miss Brent lived there except on week¬ 
ends, when she always returned to the brick 
house. There lived with her three old maiden 
aunts, as dainty and sweet and frilly as though 
they had stepped out of some old novel. 
These three little old ladies looked forward 
to the Hallowe’en party each year as the big 
event of the season, second in importance 
only to New Year. On New Year’s Day 
they still retained the custom of keeping open 
house to their friends, and friends’ children, a 
sadly diminishing crowd these later years. 
But Hallowe’en was always sprightly, glad- 


170 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


dened by the presence of so many young girls. 

“So fresh and pretty,” said one of the old 
ladies, smiling upon Joyce and Bobby as they 
entered. 

“‘Fresh’ is the word,” whispered irre¬ 
pressible Bobby. 

The house, despite its solid old furniture 
and formal arrangement, was gayly decorated 
in the usual Hallowe’en colors of black and 
yellow. Miss Brent was a charming hostess, 
and graciously called each girl by name as she 
entered, nor, in order to do this, did she 
need the prompting of Miss Hodges, who 
stood at her side. Up the winding stairs to 
quaint rooms on the upper floor, to lay off 
their wraps, went Joyce and Bobby and 
Patricia. 

“I felt like a hypocrite,” said Joyce in a 
low tone to Patricia, “when Miss Brent spoke 
of Marion and Frances being so ill.” 

A little frown appeared on Patricia’s brow. 

“I know. I think she did it intentionally. 
You look darling in that gown, Joyce.” 

Joyce flushed with pleasure. 

“Do you really like it, Patricia?” 

“It suits you. Where has Bobby gone?” 

They found Bobby standing entranced 


HALLOWE’EN 


171 


before a genuine, old-fashioned spinning-wheel, 
made of gleaming wood, the thread in place 
as though for immediate use. 

"Oh,” sighed Bobby, coming out of her 
reverie when the girls spoke to her, "isn’t 
that the most perfect piece? I think in some 
former reincarnation I was a demure little 
Colonial maid.” 

"That accounts for it,” said Patricia, in a 
tone of having many mysteries at last ex¬ 
plained. 

"Accounts for what?” Bobby looked 
puzzled. 

"Why,” Patricia teased, "no doubt, when 
you were a dear little demure maid in Colonial 
times, your instincts were all so repressed 
that you had to come back as a tomboy. I’ve 
often wondered. You’re so different from 
Marion.” 

Bobby’s eyes twinkled. 

"To be absolutely honest, I think Maid 
Marion has more to do with my present 
inclinations toward tomboyishness than any 
Colonial maid.” 

"How?” 

"Oh, she has always been so everlastingly 
proper in some ways that it gets on my 


172 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


nerves. I want to be just as much opposite 
as possible.” 

“Has the gong rung yet?” Joyce looked 
around, a worried look in her eyes. 

The other two girls laughed. 

“‘He’s sure to git you if you don’t watch 
out’,” teased Bobby. “This is a party 
without gongs, but it is time to go down. 
Come along.” 

The party was charming and delightful, 
but Joyce sadly missed the care-free, spon¬ 
taneous joy of the parties she was used to. 
These girls were all so formal, so well-behaved, 
their laughter so controlled. Joyce thought 
longingly for a moment of the Hallowe’en 
party a year ago; the party which Patricia 
nearly missed, a party made up of impromptu 
games, home-made costumes, hilarity—and 
doughnuts. Undoubtedly the refreshments 
here would be dainty, perfect, in accordance 
with the rest of the party. But Joyce was 
never to know—for she neither saw nor 
tasted them. 

She and Bobby had chosen each other as 
partners for the Torturous Way. The Way 
led up-stairs and down-stairs, across a dark¬ 
ened cellar, the only light a candle carried by 


HALLOWE'EN 


173 


the girls. At the end of the Way there was a 
pumpkin filled with Fortunes. Each girl 
drew forth her own. They were elaborate 
affairs, those Fortunes, contained, with a 
gay paper cap, inside a long, tinselled cylinder. 

It was a creepy business, finding your 
way back through the dark of a strange 
house, past half-opened doors, past ghostly 
draped, unreal figures. Bobby was in her 
element. 

"I didn’t know this party would be so 
much fun. I don’t envy Marion and Fran 
a bit.” 

"Just what do they plan to do?” asked 
Joyce, curiously. 

"Mother decided to give up the idea of the 
house-party as long as so many of us couldn’t 
come, but Marion was so angry by then, 
that she said she was going to keep her date, 
anyway. She and Fran plan to sneak out 
and meet Roy Walker and your brother. The 
four of them were going somewhere to dance. 
I suppose I should have babbled, but as 
long as Raoul, your brother, was along—” 

"But Bobby,” gasped Joyce, "Ray isn’t 
with them.” 

Bobby grasped her wrist so quickly and so 


174 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


sharply that Joyce let forth a little frightened 
shriek. 

“What did you see?” asked Joyce. 

“See? I didn’t see anything. I heard 
something. Are you sure Ray isn’t going to 
be there?” 

“Absolutely. He left for Springfield early 
this morning.” 

“And those two light-headed ones out 
alone with that Roy Walker. Golly!” ejacu¬ 
lated Bobby. “We’ve got to do something. 
Joyce. I wouldn’t trust Roy Walker as 
far as I can throw a piano.” 

“What can we do? ” Joyce was frightened. 

Bobby stood still for a minute, thinking fast. 

“First of all, we’ve got to go on and get 
those fool Fortunes. Then we’ll go back 
and be seen, especially by Miss Hodges. 
After that we’ll have to take a chance and 
sneak out. Will you come with me?” 

“Of course,” said Joyce, thinking not at 
all of the consequences to herself. 

In half an hour she and Bobby were out on 
the street. 

“Where do we go now?” Joyce’s teeth 
chattered as much from excitement as from 
cold. 


HALLOWE’EN 


175 


“I don’t know.” Bobby looked worried. 
“I don’t think we were very clever. I’m 
sure Miss Hodges saw us leaving, but it 
can’t be helped now. Here! Taxi!” 

Following the shortest course of action, the 
girls rushed back to the school. They 
hurried to Marion’s room, to find it, as they 
expected—empty! Bobby groaned. 

“But Marion is older than you,” Joyce 
tried to comfort her friend. 

“She may be older, but she has a lot less 
sense. This proves it.” 

“Surely she has been out alone before.” 

“Never like this. And with that Roy 
Walker. He’s a—I don’t like him. What 
shall I do?” The usually competent Bobby 
stood irresolute. “ I can’t ask help of the school. 
If Marion ever gets found out—Odear!” 

“Maybe she’s in Fran Evans’ room,” 
suggested Joyce. “ I saw a light there as we 
came in.” 

Marion was not there, but Frances was, a 
sulky Frances. 

“Where’s Marion?” demanded Bobby, out 
of breath. 

“She and Roy Walker went down to the 
Village.” 



176 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Why didn’t you go?” 

“Three’s a crowd,” sulked Fran Evans, 
“especially with Roy Walker.” 

“Where’d they go? When did they leave?” 

Fran looked witheringly at Bobby but she 
answered her. 

“They left about half an hour ago. They 
were going to start at the Purple Pig, I 
think. From there—I don’t know.” 

Bobby whirled Joyce from the room. 

“Where are we going? What are you 
going to do?” asked Joyce of an intent Bobby 
as the taxi sped along with them once more. 

“We’re going to the Purple Pig.” 

“Whatever that is,” said Joyce. 

“Oh, it’s a Bohemian place, nothing but a 
cheap restaurant, really, in the artist district, 
but, of course, Marion would think it smart to 
go there.” 

“What do you plan to do when you get 
there?” 

“I don’t know. Drag her home somehow.” 

“ c Father, dear father, come home with me 
now’,” quoted Joyce, unable to refrain from 
teasing a little, despite her friend’s anxiety. 

The Purple Pig was a small basement room, 
containing three or four long, board tables. 



HALLOWE’EN 


177 


Upon the whitewashed walls galloped a 
whole drove of pigs, furiously purple. The 
place was crowded with queer-looking men 
and women, and dense with smoke. Happily 
for Bobby’s peace of mind, almost the first 
persons she saw were Marion and Roy 
Walker, seated at a small table near the door. 
Joyce stood waiting for Bobby while she 
dashed over to Marion. Joyce could not 
hear what was said, but apparently the con¬ 
versation was not a pleasant one. Finally, 
however, Marion arose with a flounce followed 
reluctantly by Roy Walker. A breathless 
Bobby dashed up to Joyce. 

“Come on. They’re going back to school 
in his car. I hope the taxi waited. I’m 
going to follow them. I don’t trust Roy 
Walker.” 

Bobby was as good as her word. Luckily 
the taxi was still waiting. It was a wild 
ride. Very apparently Roy Walker was 
determined to shake off the following taxi, 
and just as determinedly Bobby would not 
be shaken. She urged the driver on, promis¬ 
ing him all sorts of rewards. Up the Avenue 
they careened, Joyce gasping for breath 
more than once as they shot by other cars; 


178 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


into the Park, around curves, and out again, 
Roy Walker’s tail-light never more than half 
a block ahead of them. Finally, Joyce 
sighed with relief. They turned into the 
right street and stopped before the school. 

A furious Marion ran from the car up the 
steps and into the school ahead of the other 
two girls. Bobby stopped long enough to 
pay the taxi-driver and give him the promised 
ten-dollar tip, and then she, too, started up 
the steps. 

“Aren’t we going back to the party?” 
asked Joyce in a faint voice. 

“No; it’s too late now.” Bobby glanced 
at her watch. “They’ll be leaving before 
long. We couldn’t get back. We’d better 
stay here and hope they didn’t miss us.” 

“What shall we tell them?” Joyce asked, 
as she followed Bobby through the door and 
into the elevator. 

“Tell them nothing, since we can’t tell 
them the truth. I hope I haven’t got you 
into trouble, Joyce. You’re such a dear.” 

“How about yourself?” 

“Oh, I’m always in scrapes. Really, I’ve 
grown accustomed to the sensation. It will 
work out some way.” 


HALLOWE’EN 


179 


On this optimistic note Bobby left Joyce at 
her door. Joyce entered the dimly-lighted 
room and sank into a comfortable chair to 
ponder. Faintly she could hear the voices 
of the two sisters, in the next room. Would 
she be in trouble? She had done nothing 
except to help Bobby help Marion. She 
wouldn’t explain, though. That would cause 
trouble for Marion, and Bobby had asked 
her to keep quiet. Perhaps they’d never be 
missed from the party. 

With that hope in her heart, Joyce un¬ 
dressed and climbed into bed. But the hope 
was instantly dispelled when Patricia came 
in some three quarters of an hour later. 

“ Whatever happened, Joyce? I’m afraid 
you’re going to get into a heap of trouble.” 
Patricia was half-curious, half-cross. 

“Why?” Joyce was frightened. 

“I think Hodge-Podge was suspicious that 
there was something in the air. Instead of 
serving refreshments as they always do, 
like a tea, they had individual artificial 
pumpkins, filled with really the daintiest 
lunch. As each girl’s name was called, she 
walked up and got her pumpkin—just like 
school! I don’t think Miss Brent liked it, 


180 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


and I don’t think it had been planned that 
way. Anyhow, you and Bobby were start¬ 
lingly conspicuous by 3^our absence. Wherever 
did you go?” 

Briefly Joyce told of their escapade. The 
worried look deepened on Patricia’s brow. 

“Hodge-Podge had an inkling, I’m sure. 
I do hope Bobby hasn’t gotten you into 
trouble.” 

“It wasn’t Bobby, it was Marion,” said 
Joyce, stanchly. 

Long after Patricia was sleeping peacefully, 
Joyce lay wondering whether she had done 
the right thing or not. She could not have 
deserted Bobby when Bobby needed her, 
Bobby who had always been her friend. But 
could she make Miss Hodges understand? 
Especially—she sighed—since she was pledged 
to silence regarding her whereabouts. 


CHAPTER XII 


IN TROUBLE 

Joyce’s worst fears were confirmed early 
Monday morning. Sunday had gone by 
normally. The girls had arisen, had attended 
chapel, and had eaten heartily of the special 
Sunday dinner of fried chicken and meringue 
pie. After dinner Patricia and Joyce had gone 
to their room, planning a few quiet hours of 
reading and writing letters. Scarcely had 
they settled comfortably, however, when there 
was a rap on the door. Joyce’s heart leaped, 
but she opened the door calmly enough. 
Fran Evans entered. 

“Oh, Patricia,” she asked pointedly, “can 
you come to my room for a little while? Isobel 
and Nancy Stevens are there. Gladys Hemin¬ 
way had a date, but if you can come—” 

“Turk’s Head?” asked Patricia. 

Fran Evans nodded, entirely ignoring Joyce. 

“You know bids go out the end of this 
week.” 

“All right.” Patricia, looking bored, got 
up. “I’ll be back soon, Joyce.” 

181 



182 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


The two girls went out, leaving behind a 
restless Joyce. Bobby and Marion Howland 
had gone home for Sunday afternoon and eve¬ 
ning; Mary Taintor was with her mother and 
father. Joyce stood at her window, looking 
down into the tiny bit of yard the school 
boasted. She thought of Irma and her friends 
before a roaring great fire in the big, shabby, 
homey room of the Hunter house. Joyce could 
imagine the hilarity and laughter, could almost 
hear the banging of the old tinny piano. 

“O dear!” she sighed; “and I’ll not see any 
of them until way next summer. I just know 
Bobbie and Timmie and Bingo are having a 
romp in the middle of the room. Mother is 
likely sitting in her favorite chair, saying, 
‘Now, boys, not too rough!’ Irma and Miss 
Laurence will be there, or else will soon be 
coming in with some of the boys. And Irma 
thinks I’m lucky! Dad will likely be pacing 
the floor restlessly, thinking of me. Dear old 
Dad! I do wish Ray was in town. I think— 
I think I’m going to be homesick.” 

Joyce bravely winked back the tears. 

“ This will never do. I’m going for a walk. ” 
She paused on the threshold, remembering 
suddenly that walking alone was proscribed. 


IN TROUBLE 


183 


Two girls together might walk within certain 
districts, but not one alone. Whom could she 
ask? Philo Cornish! 

Philo was alone and glad to go. Since she 
was a senior, she had extra privileges. To¬ 
gether, she and Joyce walked over to Riverside 
Drive and up that street nearly to Grant’s 
Tomb. Joyce’s spirits rose to their normally 
gay level. Walking with Philo, scuffling in the 
few stray leaves, breathing the sharp fall air, 
watching the people promenading, glimpsing 
the boats below on the Hudson, all brought 
the color to Joyce’s cheeks, the sparkle to her 
eyes, and contentment to her heart. Philo 
was a splendid friend. She was an individual¬ 
ist, a girl with ideas of her own which she did 
not hesitate to express. Although she was two 
years older than Joyce, they had much in 
common. And when they climbed atop a bus 
to return to school in the early dusk, with 
lights beginning to twinkle all about, Joyce 
felt the day was complete. 

She came singing into her room, to find again 
that dread pink slip reposing on her desk. 

“Miss Joyce Hunter will report at Miss 
Hodges’ office at nine o’clock Monday morn¬ 
ing.” 


184 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Just that! Nothing more. Joyce sat down 
abruptly. The last time she had received such 
a slip she had been mystified, but this time 
she thought she knew what was ahead of her. 

Bobby received one, too, and came in after 
hours, to consult Joyce. 

“My gracious!” gasped Joyce. “You’d 
better get back to your room, Bobby. If 
we’re caught again, we’ll be in deeper than 
ever.” 

“I might as well be hung for a sheep as a 
lamb, as my Aunt Arabella used to say,” 
whispered Bobby. “ I just had to know if you 
got one of these, too.” 

“I did,” Joyce whispered back. 

“Old Hodge-Podge isn’t so slow. The old 
fox! I didn’t think she’d miss us.” 

“Patricia said she had the lunch served so 
she could catch us.” 

Bobby looked worried. 

“I don’t mind about myself, but I hate to 
get you into trouble, Joycie.” 

“What will she do to us?” asked Joyce. 

“I don’t know. Ask us a lot of questions, 
for one thing.” 

“Which we can’t answer,” supplemented 
Joyce. 


IN TROUBLE 


185 


“ You could answer them, Joyce.” 

“But I won’t. You know that, Bobby.” 

“Bless your heart, of course I know it; 
therefore, I’m worried. If only Marion had 
half my sense! Well—what’s done is done. 
We’ll have to make the best of it.” 

Miss Hodges was more than severe on Mon¬ 
day morning when Joyce and Bobby presented 
themselves in her office promptly at nine 
o’clock. She gazed from one girl to the other, 
her lips puckered into a disagreeable little 
smile. 

“You girls did not enjoy Miss Brent’s 
party?” Her voice was sweetly acid. 

Joyce felt a slow blush rising in her cheeks 
and said nothing, but Bobby was entirely un¬ 
perturbed. 

“Oh, yes, we thought it delightful.” Her 
smile was disarming. 

Miss Hodges looked at her sharply. 

“Then why didn’t you stay until it was 

o J5 

over: 

“We—I had urgent business elsewhere.” 

“It must have been very urgent indeed! 
Not only were your actions extremely rude, 
but they were absolutely against all rules of 
the school.” 


186 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Why?” asked Bobby innocently. “We 
were here long before the other girls arrived 
from the party.” 

Miss Hodges looked at Bobby with a wither¬ 
ing stare. 

“It is to be regretted, Miss Roberta How¬ 
land, that you are not more like your sister, 
Marion. Poor Marion was unable to go to 
Miss Brent’s, but she sent us flowers and 
such a sweet little note of apology.” 

“But Miss Hodges,—” Joyce began impul¬ 
sively and then stopped abruptly, realizing 
that to defend Bobby, she would have to 
explain everything that had happened, and 
that that was the one thing which Bobby did 
not wish. The remark had one result, however. 
It drew Miss Hodges’ withering look to Joyce. 

“Yes, Miss Hunter. You have something 
to say?” 

Joyce shook her head miserably. 

“This is your second offense. Miss Brent 
was much too lenient the first time, I have 
always felt. However, before I impose sen¬ 
tence, if either of you girls have any explana¬ 
tion to make, I shall be glad to hear it.” 

Joyce looked at Bobby and Bobby looked 
at Joyce, but neither of them uttered a word. 


IN TROUBLE 


187 


“Very well,” Miss Hodges’ voice was cov¬ 
ered with ice, “since you do not deem it ad¬ 
visable to apologize or explain, I shall have 
to give severe punishments. Miss Roberta 
Howland is to be deprived of all privileges for 
the next month.” 

Bobby went a little white. The postponed 
house-party was to be the following Saturday 
and Sunday. Mrs. Howland had kept the 
house open for that express purpose. 

“I feel that I am being lenient in this case, 
Roberta,” Miss Hodges went on, “but this 
is your first offense, and you are a sister of 
Marion’s. Marion has always stood well in 
this school. As to Miss Hunter,” she turned 
to Joyce, who quaked inwardly, “since this is 
her second offense in less than a month, she 
will be deprived of privileges for six weeks, and 
her name entered in the red book. You may 
both go now.” 

“What is the red book?” whispered Joyce, 
as soon as they were in the hall. 

“Oh, a pet idea of Hodge-Podge’s.” Bobby 
was disgusted. “She keeps a record there of 
the girls she thinks need watching. Marion 
should have been there ages ago, but Marion’s 
too clever for that. I’m sorry, Joycie.” 


188 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Pooh!” Joyce sounded happier than she 
felt. “Time flies quickly. I have no special 
plans for the next six weeks, anyway.” 

“I had,” said Bobby, ruefully. “However, 
it might have been worse.” 

The week had started badly for Joyce, and 
so it continued. On Wednesday morning 
there was subdued excitement among the girls, 
much running back and forth along the halls, 
much forming in groups, several squeals of 
glee, and some unexpected kisses. 

“What is it all about?” she asked Philo 
Cornish as they left the breakfast-table to¬ 
gether. 

“Bids are out,” Philo sounded bored, 

“Bids are out?” repeated Joyce. “Just 
what does that mean?” 

Philo looked at her quickly. 

“I take it you didn’t get one. I thought 
you surely would on account of Patricia 
Strickland. The clubs have invited in their 
new members, therefore all the rejoicing. 
Stuff and nonsense, I call it. Makes a few 
of the snobs more snobbish, and the rest of 
us—” Philo shrugged her shoulders. 

Joyce felt a queer little stab of pain in her 
heart. She hadn’t expected a bid to Turk’s 


IN TROUBLE 


189 


Head, and yet—and yet—She was suddenly 
grateful to Philo Cornish for the stand she had 
taken,—Philo who had been bid to at least 
two of the clubs and refused; and to Mary 
Taintor who could enter any one of the four 
at any time—and refused them all. 

Joyce went soberly to her room, but matters 
were no better there. Patricia was in one of 
her difficult moods. 

Were you bid?” she asked abruptly. 

Joyce shook her head. 

Patricia set her lips in a firm line, tossed her 
head in her old imperious manner, and left the 
room without further speech. 

Even Bobby Howland failed her this morn¬ 
ing. Joyce sought Bobby in her own room, 
but Marion answered her rap on the door. 
She glared at Joyce. 

“Is there something you wish?” 

“I—I’d like to see Bobby,” Joyce was feel¬ 
ing extremely subdued. 

“Bobby’s busy!” snapped Marion. 

At just that instant Bobby’s face appeared 
over her sister’s shoulder. Joyce had never 
seen Bobby so flushed and angry. 

“I’m sorry, Joyce,” her words were crisp; 
“I’ll see you later.” 




190 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Disconsolate, Joyce turned away. Routine 
however, was not disturbed by bids, by heart¬ 
ache, or elation. That ceaseless tyrant, the 
gong, rang through the house. Joyce was 
rather glad of classes that morning, despite the 
fact that there was much whispering among 
the girls, and still much of the subdued excite¬ 
ment to be felt in the air. 

When she ran to her room at noon to re¬ 
fresh herself before lunch, she found three let¬ 
ters waiting for her. She stuffed them hastily 
into her pocket and went down to the dining¬ 
room. Here she found more consolation. 
Sticky buns! A plateful of these delicious 
buns stood in the middle of the table, and 
Joyce ate her fill. 

During the short period after lunch, before 
the afternoon class, the girls usually gathered 
in groups or strolled about in couples, dis¬ 
cussing lessons, plans, various topics of in¬ 
terest. That was all spoiled to-da’y. The 
girls who were lucky enough to have received 
bids rushed together, leaving a disconsolate 
but bravely-laughing group on the outside, a 
group which pretended to be gay, but which 
quickly disintegrated and disappeared. Joyce, 
already over her first pangs of disappointment, 


IN TROUBLE 


191 


sought one of the small reception-rooms and 
opened her letters. 

The first one was from home, a sort of 
round-robin affair, in which Bobbie and Tim- 
mie as well as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter had a 
word to say. Joyce read each page linger¬ 
ingly, hating to come to the end, and leaving 
it out of the envelope in case she should have 
time to re-read it. 

The next was a note from Sally Orcutt. 
The first few words banished every vestige of 
heartache left in Joyce. 

Sally began in her characteristically im¬ 
pulsive fashion: 

“Joyce darling: Granny Orcutt is going 
to stay in New Haven, and Dr. Orcutt says 
I may go up for the big game. But that isn’t 
the best of it. Lee wired me just this morning 
that he had four extra tickets! Four! That 
means that you and Patricia just must go. 
Perhaps your brother Raoul would come, 
too. He is almost as nice as you, Joyce. No 
doubt, Patricia knows some one else she’d 
like to ask. I’m so excited I just can’t write 
any more. I’ll see you in less than two weeks. 

“Sally 

“P. S. Lee said he would write you. 

“S. O.” 


192 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce sat up atingle with excitement. 

“Then this must be from Lee Davis,” 
she spoke aloud, although she was alone. 

The last letter was from Lee Davis, but 
Joyce had no more than hastily scanned the 
first page when the gong rang. 

“O dear!” Joyce hastily gathered up her 
three letters and started. “I wonder where 
Patricia is.” 

She looked hurriedly into two or three 
rooms, but did not find her room-mate. 
She wasted so much time that she was in 
danger of being tardy, and when she did 
meet Patricia opportunely in the hall, she 
had only time to thrust Sally’s note into her 
hand and run on without explanation. 

Joyce rushed back to her room after her 
afternoon classes, expecting to find an elated 
Patricia. Instead, she found her in a mood 
she had not seen her in for many a day. 
Patricia was haughty and Patricia was angry. 

“Why, Patricia!” gasped Joyce. “What 
is wrong? I thought you’d be so pleased 
over Sally’s letter.” 

“Pleased!” Patricia whirled on her. “You 
seem to have forgotten something, Joyce.” 

“What?” Joyce was mystified. 


IN TROUBLE 


193 


“Your six weeks won’t be up until nearly 
the middle of December.” 

Joyce sat down suddenly. 

“I’d forgotten all about that .” 

“I thought so,” Patricia was furious. 
“Now you’ll have to miss the Yale-Princeton 
game, an opportunity you don’t have every 
day in the week. Ray won’t go without you; 
and I won’t go unless you two do—and all on 
account of Marion Howland. She makes me 
sick! Why can’t she stand up and take her 
own blame on her own shoulders? I have a 
notion to tell Miss Hodges the truth.” 

“Oh, no, don’t Patricia,” begged Joyce. 

But Patricia would make no promises, 
and she was still in a flaming mood when she 
left that evening for Fran Evans’ room where 
Turk’s Head was holding a meeting. 

The first meeting of a club after bids were 
accepted was generally a jubilant one. It 
was one of the evenings in the year when they 
were allowed to have refreshments; new 
members always added zest; and plans were 
made for the year. To-night, however,Turk’s 
Head was anything but jubilant. Not only 
was Patricia angry, but Marion Howland 
was petulant, and Bobby was silent. Fran 


194 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Evans, Gladys Heminway, Isobel and Nancy 
Stevens all had a forced air of gayety about 
them. The new members looked rather 
frightened and nervous, except Helen Trow¬ 
bridge, who simpered up to Patricia when 
she entered. 

“It was so sweet of you girls to invite me 
into your club,” she said. 

Patricia glowered at her. She had con¬ 
sistently voted against Helen Trowbridge and 
had been as consistently overruled. The 
girl’s words acted as a torch to Patricia’s 
already flaming anger. 

“How did it happen that Joyce Hunter 
didn’t get a bid?” She flared at Fran Evans, 
the president. 

“Why, Patricia,” Fran looked slightly 
frightened, “you know the last time we 
voted, Glad wasn’t here. Her vote decided 
against Joyce.” 

“I don’t think she should belong,” this 
from Helen Trowbridge. “She’d never be a 
credit to the club.” 

Patricia whirled on her, scathing remarks 
burning on her tongue. 

“You would say that!” she managed at 
last. 


IN TROUBLE 


195 


Fran Evans went at once to Helen Trow¬ 
bridge’s defense. 

“ Joyce isn’t one of us, Patricia. Perhaps 
you like her, but she doesn’t dress well, 
and hasn’t any money or standing that we 
know of. I can’t see why—” 

“I can,” Bobby Howland spoke up. “ Joyce 
Hunter is one of the finest girls in this school.” 

“Hush, Bobby!” Marion glared at her 
sister. 

“I won’t hush.” Bobby was on her feet. 
“I can see there’s been some dirty work here 
against Joyce. I haven’t wanted to come into 
this old club, anyway, but for Marion’s sake, 
and for Patricia’s, too, I said I would. But 
now I won’t. I see the kind you are, and you 
make me sick! If Joyce isn’t coming in, I’m 
not, either.” 

She started for the door, but stopped as the 
voices of Fran Evans and Marion both reached 
her. 

“Please, Bobby,” begged Marion, miserably. 

“Wait a few moments,” said Fran Evans; 
“let’s straighten this out.” 

“There is nothing to straighten,” Patricia 
was still desperately angry. “I can see how 
you work. It was between Joyce and Helen 


196 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Trowbridge here. Gladys was indifferent as 
to who came in. I’ve heard her say so a 
dozen times. It is plain to be seen that you, 
Fran Evans, and likely Marion Howland—” 
Patricia took a wild shot and it went home— 
" talked Gladys into voting for Helen. All 
right! Have Helen Trowbridge. I’m done. 
I always did hate underhanded methods. 
Which brings to my mind another slightly 
more personal matter.” She whirled on 
Marion Howland. "Joyce has a chance to 
go to the Yale-Princeton game. Thanks to 
your duplicity, she will not be given permis¬ 
sion.” 

"How am I to blame?” Marion’s voice was 
plaintive. 

"Joyce and Bobby have been deprived of 
privileges, and it’s all your fault.” 

"I don’t see how,” insisted Marion. 

"You must be blind, then,” flamed Patricia. 
"And I give you fair warning, Marion, if you 
don’t tell Miss Hodges the truth by to-morrow 
noon, I shall!” 

Marion looked sulky. 

"You’re so different from what you used to 
be, Patricia,” she wailed. "You’ve never been 
like yourself since you went W^est.” 




IN TROUBLE 


197 


4 ‘Thanks for the compliment,” said Patri¬ 
cia, in ringing tones. “And I shall continue 
to be different. If you wish proof of that, I 
hereby give it. I tender my resignation to 
the Turk’s Head Club, to take effect at once.” 

She whirled to leave, and met the approv¬ 
ing glance of Bobby Howland. 

“ Good for you, Patricia! I wasn’t sure you 
had it in you. Wait! I’m coming with you.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 

The excitement the following day was much 

greater than it had been on the previous one. 

The storv of Patricia’s withdrawal from Turk’s 
%/ 

Head, and Bobby Howland’s refusal to join 
that same club, ran like peat-fire through the 
school. Peat-fire, as every one knows, is an 
underground fire that spreads rapidly, burns 
long and fiercely, although the surface of 
things is unchanged. Even so, did the tale of 
Patricia’s and Marion’s quarrel spread. The 
school promptly divided itself into two fac¬ 
tions, by far the larger share being on Marion’s 
side. But many loyal friends, headed by 
Mary Taintor and Philo Cornish, stood by 
Patricia. 

One good result came of the affair, how¬ 
ever. Marion, fearing Patricia would carry 
out her threat, confessed to Miss Hodges that 
Bobby had been absent from the Hallowe’en 
party out of concern for her. 

“ Why didn’t Roberta tell me that that was 
her reason?” asked Miss Hodges. 

198 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


199 


Marion shrugged. 

“She’s a queer child, is Roberta; very close¬ 
mouthed about so many things,” Marion’s 
voice grew sweetly plaintive. “I would have 
come down with her when you called her in 
on Monday, but she never breathed a word 
of it to me until yesterday.” 

“That was very commendable of you, 
Marion,” Miss Hodges beamed. “I had for¬ 
gotten you were ill that night. I shall lift 
Roberta’s punishment, at once.” 

“So kind of you,” murmured Marion. 

Miss Hodges frowned suddenly. 

“I can scarcely see, however, why it was 
necessary for Joyce Hunter to accompany 
Roberta.” 

Marion wriggled. She knew that unless she 
got Joyce out of the scrape, too, that Patricia 
would divulge the whole truth. 

“Bobby’s fault, again, Miss Hodges. She 
is a conscientious child, really. She said she 
thought that by bringing Joyce with her, she 
would avoid being imprudent, a sort of 
chaperon, as it were.” 

Miss Hodges still frowned. 

“Both the girls, Joyce Hunter, especially, 
should have reported to me before they left 


200 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Miss Brent’s home. There is really no excuse 
for Joyce.” 

Marion was growing uncomfortable. She 
felt compelled to go to Joyce’s defense. 

“She was really trying to help Bobby, I 
believe. She is still quite ignorant, of course, 
of many of our ways.” 

Miss Hodges tapped the desk with her 
pencil. 

“Well, since you have offered this explan¬ 
ation, Marion, I feel compelled to remove the 
punishment, although I am reluctant to do so. 
Once before, Joyce Hunter was deprived of 
her privileges for disobeying the rules. How¬ 
ever, we have no desire to be unjust. I shall 
speak to Roberta and to Joyce.” 

Marion sighed a sigh of relief, which Miss 
Hodges entirely misread. 

Instead of Joyce’s forgiveness being a 
sugar-coated pill, it was very much the other 
way around. The sweet part, the lifting 
of the ban, was completely surrounded and 
smothered by a lecture which Miss Hodges 
gave the two girls on disobedience. Speech¬ 
less they listened, and speechless they left 
the office, but once in the privacy of Joyce’s 
room they shed the reproofs, remembered 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


201 


only that they were once again free, and 
performed a wild war-dance. Patricia com¬ 
ing in unexpectedly, found them at it. 

“ Whatever are you doing?” she asked. 

“ We’re pardoned, ” giggled Joyce, stopping, 
breathless. 

“At the eleventh hour,” Bobby struck an 
attitude. “Now we needn’t hang! And. 
Marion has saved her soul!” 

“Thank goodness!” 

“Why?” 

“Now I’ll not have to tell Miss Hodges the 
whole affair. I hated to do it, but I intended 
to.” 

“No, Marion went down herself this 
morning.” 

“For how long has she lost her privileges?” 
Patricia still looked worried. 

Bobby laughed derisively. 

“Patricia, you’re a babe-in-arms. You 
certainly don’t know Marion as well as I 
do.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Patricia. 

“I mean that when Marion chooses, she 
can be as sweet and as—as—” Bobby paused 
“—as you’d expect a sister of mine to be,” 
she finished, impishly. 


202 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Well, if she was so sweet and dear, how 
did she escape punishment?” 

“She wasn’t. Certain girls act like poison 
in Marion’s blood. Fran Evans always has 
that effect on her, and now this sweet, cooing 
Helen Trowbridge is as bad, if not worse. 
Marion lost no privileges. She patted Miss 
Hodges on the back with one hand, smoothed 
matters calmly out with the other, and had 
Hodge-Podge eating out of her hand in the 
meantime. My metaphor is a bit mixed, or 
else Marion has an extra hand somewhere, 
but you understand what I mean. You or I 
would have banged in, told the simple truth, 
and been in wrong forever, but Marion—” 

“Well, at least, you’re free to go to the 
game, Joyce,” said Patricia with a relieved sigh. 

Patricia wisely applied directly to Miss 
Brent for permission for Joyce and herself 
to go to the Yale-Princeton game, and had 
no trouble getting it. 

Great preparations were made for that day. 
Patricia, knowing well that a November 
football game was likely to be a chilly one, 
had her fur coat taken out of storage. Joyce 
went around collecting sweaters and mittens, 
but the night before the eventful day, Bobby, 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


203 


smothered in a beautiful, soft coat, appeared 
in Joyce’s room, dropped the coat, and started 
for the door. 

“Wait!” gasped Joyce. “You forgot your 
coat.” 

“Oh, no, I didn’t. Think I’m going to let 
you catch cold and then have to nurse you?” 
Bobby grinned broadly. 

“You mean me to wear it to-morrow?” 
Joyce was astonished. 

“Of course, silly. I’m just about as tall as 
you, and—” 

“Bobby, you darling!” Joyce gave her a 
bear hug. “But I shouldn’t really.” 

“Don’t be absurd! That small blue hat 
of yours will be stunning with it.” Bobby 
whirled suddenly back into the room. “Let’s 
try it on.” 

Stunning indeed was Joyce as she snuggled 
into the luxurious coat. 

“But, really, Bobby—” 

“Hush!” insisted Bobby. 

Joyce was so excited that Friday night that 
sleep seemed impossible. Saturday dawned 
crystal clear, and sharp with the tang of 
autumn in the air. Joyce was up betimes, 
closing windows, running bath-water. 



£04 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“ Hurry! ” she shook Patricia. “ It’s to-day. 
I’m so excited. When I woke up this morn¬ 
ing, I found I hadn’t slept a wink.” 

“I didn’t know you were Irish,” said Pa¬ 
tricia, sleepily. 

Joyce was still pondering over this remark 
when she and Patricia, fully dressed and snug¬ 
gling into fur coats, stepped into the Strick¬ 
land motor. Sally’s train was due at seven- 
sixteen, and the two girls were to meet her, 
pick up Raoul, all have breakfast at the 
Strickland home, and get as early a start as 
possible for the long drive. But as they step¬ 
ped into the closed car, they found Mrs. 
Strickland already within. 

“Why, Mother,” Patricia greeted her hap¬ 
pily, “what is it all about?” 

“I’ve decided to go, after all.” 

“Oh, good!” Patricia and Joyce were unan¬ 
imous. 

Mrs. Strickland smiled affectionately at 
them. 

“I thought it would save time for us all to 
meet Sally, and then go to the Plaza for break¬ 
fast. I told Raoul to meet us there, and I’ve 
already ordered the breakfast.” 

“Delicious!” said Patricia. “I’m starved.” 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


205 


“ We’ll have to leave directly the game is 
over. I’m sorry you girls will have to miss 
the excitement, but, as you know, we sail to¬ 
morrow, and I must be home to-night.” 

Joyce smiled at her shyly. 

“That doesn’t matter at all, as long as you 
can go.” 

An impishly-smiling Sally met "them at 
the Grand Central Station. 

“Oh, you darlings!” she tried to hug them 
both at the same time. “Don’t you-all 
look just gorgeous!” 

“Sally from the South,” teased Joyce, re¬ 
membering Sally’s habit of giving nick-names. 

“I’m so tickled, I’m liable to talkl ’most 
anyway.” Sally was prancing. 

“It must be catching,” Patricia smiled. 
“Joyce talked like a native Irishman all 
the morning.” 

“What do you mean?” Joyce was still 
mystified. 

“Never mind! I’ll wait until I can tell 
Ray on you.” 

“Oh, is he going? He is almost as nice as 
you, Joyce.” 

“We must hurry, girls. Mother is waiting 
in the car, and I’m starved.” 


206 PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 

Raoul was waiting in the hotel lobby for 
them. 

“Why, Joyce,” he greeted his sister, “I 
didn’t know you. I thought you must be one 
of Patricia’s friends.” 

“So I am,” retorted Joyce. 

“One of her wealthy friends, then.” 

“Do I look like an heiress?” asked Joyce. 

“You look like a millionairess, in that coat,” 
retorted Ray. 

“Now, before you two begin to get clever—” 
said Sally. 

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Patricia. “Do let 
me tell you what Joyce said this morning. 
She awakened me with: 'Oh, Patricia, do get 
up. I’m so excited that when I woke up this 
morning, I found I hadn’t slept a wink!’” 

In the shout of laughter that followed, they 
all turned toward the dining-room. Mrs. 
Strickland had engaged a table. Breakfast 
was quickly served, and eaten with much 
talk and laughter. In the midst of it Patricia 
looked up, to find herself gazing into the eyes 
of Roy Walker. 

Why—why—Roy! ’’ she stammered. 

“Good morning!” his voice was sugar- 
sweet." You seem to be out early this morning.” 



‘‘DO I LOOK LIKE AN HEIRESS? ” ASKED JOYCE .—Page 206, 


























THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 207 

Patricia flushed uncomfortably. 

“Yes, we’re going to the Yale game.” 

“Ah—driving?” 

“Yes.” 

“How convenient! I myself am going up 
there to meet some friends. I am alone, and 
I observe there are only five of you. Mind 
if I invite myself to ride with you?” 

Patricia looked helplessly at her mother. 
Mrs. Strickland nodded, although evidently 
none too well pleased. 

“Why, of course.” Patricia realized that 
she was being placed in an uncomfortable 
position, but made the best of it. “You 
haven’t met these others, I believe?” 

For a few minutes after Roy Walker joined 
the party the gayety was subdued while he 
held forth on various topics, chief of which 
was himself. Neither Raoul nor Joyce liked 
this young man very well, and Sally, as she 
often did when she met strangers, assumed 
the pose of a shy, demure maiden. She 
glanced at Roy Walker once or twice from 
lowered eyes, formed a very definite and very 
private opinion of him, and continued to keep 
quiet. But when they rose to go, the irrepres¬ 
sible part of Sally’s nature found expression. 


208 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I say, Ray, help the heiress on with her 
• coat!” 

Joyce made a face at her, and seeing that 
she really was annoyed, Sally proceeded to 
tease her. 

“I’m about as much an heiress as Helen 
Trowbridge,” protested Joyce. 

“You know Helen Trowbridge?” Roy 
Walker took an immediate and hitherto un¬ 
noticed interest in Joyce. “She’s a charm¬ 
ing young one.” 

From then on, he directed all his attentions 
and remarks to Joyce, to Sally’s open delight. 

In the car it was the same. Mrs. Strick¬ 
land sat in front with the driver; Raoul in¬ 
tended to sit on a chair, but Roy Walker 
maneuvered matters so that Joyce sat beside 
him, while Raoul occupied the rear seat 
between Patricia and Sally. Joyce threw the 
girls a despairing look, which Sally met with 
a giggle and Patricia with a smile. 

The car moved swiftly and easily. The 
chauffeur was an expert driver. Soon they 
were out of traffic, away from the city and 
speeding along the State Highway. The 
trees were mostly bare of leaves now, the air 
was sharp, although the sun had warmed it, 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 209 

/ 

but inside the car was only comfort and cheer. 
Wherever Sally was, there was sure to be 
nonsense, and to-day was no exception. 

“Whom is every one going to root for?” 
she asked suddenly. 

As was to be expected, Roy Walker 
monopolized the question as applying to 
himself, and himself only. 

“I shall most certainly not root for Yale. 
I’m a Harvard man myself.” 

“Lee will love you like a brother!” 
ejaculated Sally. 

“Lee?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. 

“Lee Davis, my cousin. He is the most 
ardent Yale man I ever knew. Lee is the 
most ardent soul, anyway. Don’t you think 
so, Joyce?” 

“How should I know?” Joyce was as¬ 
tonished. 

“Why, he’s such an ardent admirer of 
yours,” Sally’s eyes twinkled, “and such an 
ardent—shall we say, disliker?—of Patricia’s.” 

“He doesn’t know much then!” ejaculated 
Raoul. “ Begging your pardon, Sally. I really 
like Lee Davis immensely, but—” Ray 
floundered. 

Sally laughed. 


210 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Atta boy, Ray! You know, I don’t 
think Lee really dislikes Patricia at all, he 
only thinks he does. Oh, you should have 
seen them at camp last year when they first 
met. I’ll never forget it.” 

The three girls went into gales of laughter, 
while Raoul looked sheepish, and Roy 
Walker looked bored. 

Despite the fact that it was a long drive, 
they reached the end of it almost before they 
realized it. There had been a hurried lunch, 
and now the roads were crowded with cars 
bearing gay colors and happy people, all 
going to the game. New Haven’s streets, 
none too wide, were packed with cars and 
people, all streaming to that edge of town 
where the Bowl is located. Excitement was 
abroad like a fever; it flushed Sally’s] face 
and burned Joyce’s cheeks. Joyce scarcely 
noticed the little park that used to be^the 
Bowling Green, nor the quaint churches on 
the edge of it. 

“Oh,” said Sally, “I do wish you were 
going to stay longer. There are some lovely 
drives about here, and a splendid golf course. 
The Yale buildings are marvellous. There 
is a new one, comparatively new—” 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


211 


“Oh, I know about that one,” interrupted 
Joyce. “It is copied from some English 
building, isn’t it? Lee wrote me all about it.” 

Sally glanced impishly at Roy Walker, 
but he was leaning forward, speaking to the 
chauffeur in a commanding manner. 

“You may drop me anywhere in the 
grounds. I have friends to meet.” 

Sally gasped and looked at Patricia, who 
who was again flushing uncomfortably. 

No word was said as Roy Walker bade 
them good-bye, but the removal of his 
presence was the removal of a restraint. The 
girls grew more and more excited. By the 
time Lee Davis joined them, they were all 
chattering at once. Greetings and saluta¬ 
tions were so hilarious that even Patricia and 
Lee forgot to be frosty to one another. 

“I have the tickets here,” said Lee, pro¬ 
ducing them eagerly. “I’ll give you yours. 
I’m to take Mother and Granny Orcutt out, 
and I’ll meet you there.” 

He spoke cheerfully, but he eyed the 
others a bit wistfully. Mrs. Strickland said: 

“Lee! You get in here with these young 
people. I’ll take care of your Mother and 
Mrs. Orcutt.” 


nz 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Oh, would you, Mrs. Strickland? You’re 
a brick!” 

The car rolled away again, and finally came 
to a stop not far from a blank-looking, circm 
lar wall with doors set in it at even distances. 
People were streaming in at these doors now. 
It was a scramble amid a cheering, good- 
natured crowd to find and enter the right 
door, and then to find the right seats. Joyce 
gasped at the sight before her. The Yale 
Bowl is just that—a bowl, filled now almost 
to overflowing with a living throng, bedecked 
in gay colors. 

Below, the football field, hardly seeming 
like an ordinary field, was still empty. The 
game would not be called for several minutes, 
but Joyce was too busy, watching the throng, 
listening to the crisp music of the bands and 
the cheers of the crowds, to notice the time. 
Lee Davis seated himself next to her, and for 
more reasons than one, Joyce was glad of 
the fur coat. 

“It’s going to be a great game,” Lee said. 

Joyce smiled at him. 

“Something must be wrong.” 

“Why?” He was surprised. 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


213 


“I haven’t heard you and Sally quarreling 

yet.”' 

“Give us time,” he laughed. 

But they had no time to quarrel that 
afternoon. It was not many minutes before 
the teams ran on the field. The cheering 
grew and swelled into a torrent of sound. 
Then every one settled back into quiet, with 
little rustlings and murmurings, waiting for 
the first kick-off. 

Princeton won the ball at the start, made 
their first down, and then lost the ball to 
Yale. The game was on in full earnest, with 
intermittent spells of intense quiet, broken 
by wild shouting. Joyce found herself leaning 
forward, her hands gripped and icy-cold, 
though the blood was pounding in her veins. 
Up and down the field surged the two teams. 
Twice Princeton was within ten yards of a 
score, and the Yale line held. The cheering 
was uproarious. Lee was on his feet,.dancing 
up and down like a madman, his throat 
nearly bursting. The score stood nothing to 
nothing at the end of the first quarter. 

A few minutes of play in the second quarter 
and there was a lull. A Yale man was 
“knocked out.” 


214 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“That’s Rhodes,” Lee said to Joyce, “one 
of our best men. Looks like they’re trying 
to put him out of the game.” 

“Rhodes — Rhodes — Rhodes,” the chant 
went over the field from thousands of throats; 
“Rhodes — Rhodes — Rhodes.” And then 
the cheer-leader began a special yell for the 
disabled man. 

Apparently heartened by this, Rhodes was 
again on his feet and into the game. Back 
and forth surged the players. This time 
Yale made the five-yard line, fumbled, lost 
the ball, was pushed back, came down again, 
and the whistle blew! The first half was 
over—nothing to nothing. 

Joyce snuggled back into the fur coat. 

“0 my!” was all she could manage. 

“ Isn’t it great? ” Sally’s eyes were dancing 
“I’d like to go down and hug every one of 
them. Just listen to that band! I’ve half a 
notion to go down and follow it around.” 

She rose as she spoke, and Lee Davis put 
out his hand, alarmed: “Sally!” 

With a giggle, Sally sank back again to the 
seat. 

“I thought that would annoy you, Lee. 
Really, though, I must do something rash.” 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 215 


“Wait until after the game,” advised Lee. 

The second half began rather slowly. 
Yale kicked, Princeton caught and carried 
the ball, then kicked. A Yale man caught 
the ball but was instantly tackled. Then 
Yale evidently decided that time was getting 
precious. Once more Y 7 ale had the ball, it 
was in Rhodes’ hands; down the field he 
went, was stopped, second down, two yards 
to gain. Again Rhodes had the ball, with 
a strong guard around him. The ball was 
pushed a good ten yards. An immense sigh 
arose from the crowd. The same tactics 
were repeated and another long gain made. 
Excitement was running high and tense. 
Ten yards to the goal line. Were they going 
to kick? No—no! Then, without any one 
knowing exactly what had happened, Rhodes 
had the ball, shook off the tacklers, was across 
the line, men clutching and clinging to him. 
Pandemonium broke loose. Yale missed the 
kick, to the accompaniment of many groans, 
but, nevertheless, the score was six to nothing. 
And it was still six to nothing at the end of 
the third quarter. 

But the Princeton men were fighters, and 
before the last quarter had hardly started 


216 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


they made a touchdown and kicked the goal 
—seven to six! 

“Oh,” groaned Joyce. “Oh, we must win.” 

Lee’s face was white. 

Again and again Rhodes tried for a weak 
spot in the Princeton line, but they knew him 
now, and he was unable to break through. 
The fight was furious. There was an up¬ 
heaval. Yale was penalized fifteen yards. 
Every one groaned. The Yale men gritted 
their teeth, covered the fifteen and five more. 
Another pile-up, and then, tense stillness. 
One man did not rise. 

“Rhodes—Rhodes—Rhodes!” The crowd 
was vociferous, angry this time. 

Lee Davis whipped out his watch. 

“Oh,” he groaned, “only five minutes left 
to play.” 

“Look,” Joyce pointed. “He’s up again.” 

Rhodes was up, staggering groggily between 
two men. 

They lined up, still perilously near the 
Princeton lin Princeton had the ball—they 
were going to kick—ah—they had kicked— 
it was caught—fumbled—Rhodes had the 
ball. He was around the end. Pie was 
running. Oh! He’s down! No, he got away 


THE YALE-PRINCETON GAME 


£17 

from that man! Look out! Ah! That chap 
tackled too soon. Rhodes avoided him— 
and, could it be true? The field was clear 
ahead of him. He dropped into an easy, 
deceptive lope, leaving his pursuers far 
behind. Pandemonium applauded that spec¬ 
tacular play when the ball finally reposed 
calmly behind the goal-posts. The crowd 
went wild. This time Yale made its kick, 
and the score stood thirteen to seven. 

Princeton was unable to do anything in 
the minute and a half left of play. And the 
game was over! 

“That’s once that thirteen was lucky,” 
said Sally amid the general jubilation. 
“Where’ll we go first, Lee?” 

“Superstitious Sally,” teased Patricia. 
“We shall have to be starting back almost 
directly, I’m afraid. I wish we might stay 
with you and Lee and Granny Orcutt, but 
I’m afraid it’s impossible this time.” 

“Oh,” wailed Sally, “you didn’t tell me 
that! I knew that old thirteen meant 
trouble.” 

Lee Davis’ face was dismal. 

“I’d hoped you’d stay. There will be 
much excitement here to-night.” 


218 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Strickland, with Granny 
Orcutt and Mrs. Davis had joined them. “I 
warned the girls we’d have to leave early.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Joyce. “It 
has been a perfectly wonderful time. I shall 
never forget it!” 


CHAPTER XIV 

CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 

Mr. and Mrs. Strickland sailed the next 
day. Patricia and Joyce went down to see 
them off. Seeing the enormous boat, Mrs. 
Strickland’s room filled with flowers, candy, 
and books, was a breath-taking experience for 
Joyce. Patricia was calm about it all. 

“Wouldn’t you love to be going?” asked 
Joyce. 

“I probably shall go next year. Father ex¬ 
pects to be back this time in a month or six 
weeks.” 

Cheerfully the girls waved good-by from the 
dock. Joyce feared that Patricia would be 
lonesome, but Patricia had often said good-by 
to her mother and father, and this absence was 
to be for only a short while. 

“I have permission for us to go to a matinee 
to-day,” she confided to Joyce. “I worked 
on Miss Brent’s sympathies a bit. Which 
one shall we attend? Mary Taintor is coming, 
too.” 

Joyce was happy to go to anything, and 
said so. 


219 


220 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“You know,” continued Patricia, “I’ve a 
notion to take Miss Brent into my confidence.” 

“She’s a dear,” admitted Joyce. 

“Marion Howland is furious at me, and is 
telling all sorts of tales about that Turk’s 
Head affair.” 

Joyce looked at Patricia. 

“Just what happened? You never told 
me. 

“Oh—plenty!” Patricia remembered sud¬ 
denly just what had happened. 

“ Dofyou mind, so very much? ” 

“In a way, I do mind, of course, but when I 
think of Mary Taintor, and Philo Cornish— 
and you, all on the outside,I’m glad I resigned.” 

“Bobby Howland, too,” said Joyce, “You 
know she refused to go in.” 

“Yes, Bobby’s a dear.” 

The next few weeks sped so fast that Joyce 
felt most of the time as though she were on a 
merry-go-round. Sundays flew around so 
fastj(they made her dizzy. Thanksgiving came 
and went, with two notable occurrences to 
remember it by. 

The first and foremost was the Symphony 
Concert which the girls were allowed to attend 
in the evening. Joyce had never before heard 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


221 


a Symphony Concert, and although she was 
limp afterwards from the exaltation of it, it 
seemed to her at the time that she was float¬ 
ing far above earth on magnificent waves of 
sound. 

The other happening, although of much 
slighter consequence, was far more human 
and amusing. When Joyce and Patricia, 
accompanied by Bobby, returned to their 
room after an enormous turkey dinner, a pur¬ 
ple box reposed on Joyce’s dressing-table. 

“For me?” She asked in surprise. 

Her name was written clearly on it. In¬ 
side the box was a cluster of perfect orchids. 
With a cry of delight, Joyce lifted them out 
and buried her face in them. 

“Who sent them?” asked Bobby, curiously. 

“ Goodness gracious! I don’t know.” Joyce 
hunted frantically through the box for a card. 
At last she found it and held it to the light. 
“Mr.—Roy—Walker!” she gasped. “My— 
good-ness—gra-cious! ” 

She sank limply to a chair. Then she and 
Patricia broke into hilarious laughter. 

“What is so funny?” asked Bobby. 

“We were fooling that day at the football 
game, teasing Joyce about your fur coat,” 


222 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


explained Patricia, “and calling her an heir¬ 
ess—and he believed it!” 

“Oh, I must explain!” said Joyce. 

“Explain—nothing!” ejaculated Bobby. 
“Let him alone. He’s no good, anyway, and 
maybe you can switch his interest from Marion. 
That doesn’t sound very complimentary to 
you, Joyce, but it is, really, because you have 
sense enough to see him for what he really is, 
and that’s more than I can say for Marion.” 

“But I feel as though I were receiving goods 
under false pretenses,” protested Joyce so 
seriously that she sent the others off into gales 
of laughter again. 

Christmas holidays were the next big event. 
Most of the girls looked forward to them more 
eagerly than either Joyce or Patricia did. 
Patricia had had word that her mother and 
father would not be home until some time in 
February. Joyce planned to stay right at 
school. Although both girls had been asked 
out for the actual day, the rest of the two 
weeks and a half looked like a long stretch. 

“Oh, well,” Joyce was trying to be as cheer¬ 
ful as possible, “Raoul will be here. We can 
do a lot of things, if he isn’t too busy. It 
won’t be half bad.” 



CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


223 


But this was to be a year of surprises for 
Joyce. Two days before the actual closing 
of the school, Raoul called up, and asked in 
an excited voice: “Joyce, where and when 
can I see you at once?” 

“Ray! Anything important?” Joyce was 
frightened. 

“Mighty important, but mighty nice.” 

“Well, to-night isn’t Callers’ Night, but 
perhaps I can get permission for you as long 
as you’re a brother.” Joyce was too relieved 
to be excited. 

When she and Patricia went down that 
evening to receive Raoul, she was normally 
curious. 

“Listen, Joy!” Ray was unable to contain 
his surprise a second longer. “I got an un¬ 
expected bonus. Talk about tickled! And 
you and I are going home for the holidays! 
It’s the best present I could think of—for 
every one.” 

Joyce was hard put to keep from expressing 
her elation with an Indian war-whoop, until 
she saw Patricia’s face. 

“ Oh, Patricia, what will you do ? 55 

“I don’t know exactly.” 



224 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Come on out with us.” It was Ray’s 
sudden inspiration. 

Patricia’s face lighted. 

“I might! How soon do you leave?” 

“Well,” Raoul sobered to discuss plans, 
“you girls would have to leave ahead of me. 
I can get leave for only about five days, in¬ 
cluding Christmas, and most of those will be 
spent on the train. You and Joy could go out 
on the special car that takes the Minneapolis 
girls, couldn’t you? I know Grandma Parsons 
would love to have you. If she wouldn’t, 
there’s always room at the Hunter house.” 

Such a busy twenty-four hours as the two 
girls put in, packing, sorting, sending tele¬ 
grams, buying tickets. Lessons went by the 
board entirely, but since it was the last day of 
school, no one paid any special attention. 
And when the Manhattan Flier left the Grand 
Central Station, Joyceand Patricia were among 
the passengers. 

The arrival in Westcott was almost as hila¬ 
rious as the departure from New York. The 
girls had made connections in Chicago by a 
very slight margin. Joyce was too excited to 
sleep much, and was up early, fortunately, 
for Grandma Parsons and Mrs. Hunter met 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


225 


the train at the junction. Without a word 
Joyce flew into her mother’s arms. Then how 
tongues did fly. 

Westcott was covered with snow, and it 
never looked so beautiful to Joyce as it did 
that early December morning. An impatient 
Bobbie, a calm Timmie, and an excited Bingo 
were waiting on the station platform to greet 
her. Almost immediately there was a tangle 
of girl, two small boys, and a dog, from which 
Joyce emerged slightly dishevelled, with her 
hat over one eye, but radiantly happy. 

“Oh, it seems so good to see you all again,” 
she repeated over and over. “Timmie, you’ve 
grown a foot! ” 

“Me, too,” insisted Bobbie. “Me, too.” 

Patricia came in for her share of welcome, 
none the less warm, although a trifle more 
sedate. 

Events began with a rush. Apparently 
every one in town knew that Patricia and 
Joyce were coming for the holidays. That 
very first evening almost the entire senior class 
arrived at the Hunter home, Patricia in their 
midst. With much shouting and hilarity 
rugs were rolled back, furniture pushed aside, 
and an impromptu dance started, with differ- 


226 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


ent girls taking turns at the piano. During 
the first part of the evening Bobbie and 
Timmie were very much underfoot, but before 
long they were shooed off to bed. Joyce’s 
mother and father sat and beamed upon the 
fun, joined for a while by Grandma Parsons. 

“Grandfather was too tired to come,” she 
said, “but I just couldn’t miss it. It makes 
me think of my own young days.” 

“I do wish Ray could have been here for 
this,” confided Joyce to John Rogers as they 
danced. 

“Is he changed?” asked John. 

“Ray? Why, I don’t know. Yes, I be¬ 
lieve he is. He’s lots nicer, though.” 

“You know,” John looked at her in awe, 
“you seem different, yourself.” 

“Oh, no,” laughed Joyce, “nothing in the 
world could ever change me, or make me love 
Westcott any the less.” 

The evening finished with an impromptu 
meal. Two of the boys ran out and returned 
with a bagful of hot-dog sandwiches. Mrs. 
Hunter produced “a cake” made in honor of 
Joyce’s homecoming, and Patricia ran across 
the yard and returned with a jar of Grandma 
Parson’s special “Dills.” 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


m 


The next two or three days went quickly, 
much too quickly to suit Joyce, who tried hard 
to keep back each precious minute, but with 
shopping, a flying trip to Minneapolis, last- 
minute preparations for Christmas, seeing the 
different boys and girls, a skating party, a 
candy pull, and one afternoon spent skiing 
with Bobbie and Timmie, the time flew. 

The morning of the day before Christmas, 
Joyce came flying down the stairs, late for 
breakfast. At the bottom she collided with 
Ray, who stood, bag in hand, waiting to go up. 

“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” 
he called. 

“ Why don’t you go where you’re looking?” 
gasped Joyce as she flung her arms around him. 
“You got in my way, Ray. I didn’t expect you 
until to-morrow. My, I’m glad to see you! 
The place didn’t seem like home without you.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t seem like home un¬ 
less you were here, either, but I certainly was 
glad to see Dad, Mother, Irma, and the boys.” 

“It’s been just perfect. Irma’s being so 
sweet. She seems like a different person. I 
can’t quite decide whether it’s our absence 
or the presence of some one else,” Joyce 
smiled mysteriously. 


228 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“ What do you mean? ” Raoul looked blank. 

“ Never mind. Gracious, here you stand, 
no doubt starved. Dash up and primp a bit, 
and we’ll gobble some breakfast.” 

“For a young lady just returned from New 
York, you seem dreadfully slangy.” 

Joyce giggled. 

“Excitement affects me that way. It’s like 
Sally with her Southern expressions.” 

Although Christmas Eve was a gay and 
happy time, with snow falling steadily outside 
and an enormous fire roaring inside, Christmas 
Day itself was the big day in the Hunter 
family. Joyce had been awakened early by 
the clatter of the boys, Raoul as noisy as either 
Timmie or Bobbie, and Bingo adding his share 
to the general excitement. Joyce’s most im¬ 
portant present was a wrist-watch, small and 
beautiful. Irma, enveloped in that soft glow 
which Joyce had mentioned to Raoul, drew 
Joyce aside during the course of the morning 
and showed her a small but exquisite diamond 
set in a ring to be worn on the third finger of a 
the left hand. 

“No one is to know, Joyce, only just you 
and Mother. We shall not be married until 
next June, but I’m so happy.” 


i 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


229 


She gave Joyce an ecstatic hug, which Joyce 
returned. 

“Tom Benson?” asked Joyce. 

Irma nodded, her eyes sparkling. 

Personally, Joyce thought Tom Benson a 
very ordinary sort of a chap, a young man try¬ 
ing to establish a dentist’s practice in Minne¬ 
apolis, a friend of Celia Laurence’s, very kind, 
very accommodating, very ordinary, but in 
Irma’s eyes he was perfection. Joyce sighed 
a little, scarcely knowing why herself, but that 
tiny sigh was quickly engulfed in a big wave of 
joyousness. 

Grandfather and Grandma Parsons were 
coming over for dinner. Grandma Parsons 
and Mrs. Hunter had been busy for two days, 
preparing it. For the evening, several of the 
boys and girls had planned a big “bobbing” 
party. 

It was just as the Hunters and their guests 
finished their enormous dinner of “turkey and 
fixings,” as Grandfather Parsons expressed it, 
that the doorbell rang. Joyce looked about in 
surprise. Every one was present and ac¬ 
counted for: Grandfather Parsons, Grandma 
Parsons, Patricia, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, 
Raoul, Irma, Tom Benson, Timmie, Bobbie, 



230 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


even Bingo contentedly chewing a bone in the 
kitchen. 

“Who can it be?” asked Joyce. 

No one seemed to know. 

“Better answer it, Joyce,” her father spoke. 

Dropping her napkin, Joyce flew to the 
front door and pulled it open. Then she stood 
transfixed, her mouth open. 

“Why, Lee Davis!” she managed to gasp, 
at last. “How did you get here? How? 
Where? When? Why?” 

Lee laughed and stepped across the thresh¬ 
old, bringing with him a tall, dark, romantic¬ 
looking young man. 

“Joyce, this is Peter Craig. Have you any 
turkey left? You see, for once, I’m doing any¬ 
thing but the formal, proper thing.” 

Joyce, almost too overcome to move, finally 
took them into the dining-room and intro¬ 
duced them all around. While the two young 
men were indulging in enormous platefuls of 
turkey, Lee explained: 

“You see, we were at a party in Louisville, 
night before last—” 

“Night before last,” gasped Joyce. “But 
Lee—” 

“Night before last,” continued Lee calmly. 



CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


231 


“It was a dull party, and the weather was 
slushy and miserable. I said I sure would 
like to see some cold, snappy weather, and 
heaps of snow. You see, I’d just had a taste 
of it before I left Yale. Well, Craig here heard 
me, and offered to fly north with me. He’s 
just acquired a new super-machine that he’s 
been aching to try out for a week. Sally was 
there, and she bet us we’d never go. Natu¬ 
rally then we had to go. We really started for 
New England yesterday morning. Then I 
remembered that Minnesota had the best snow¬ 
storms in the country—or so I’d been told!” 
He smiled at Joyce. “So here we are. We 
landed in Minneapolis about two hours ago, 
and motored over.” 

Joyce looked from one to the other, round¬ 
eyed. 

“And I remember,” spoke up Grandma 
Parsons, “the time that Harvey Strickland 
drove up from Chicago to see Molly. It took 
him the better part of three days, and we 
thought it was marvellous that a machine 
could travel so fast.” 

The laughter was general except for Joyce. 
She was still too overcome to believe her eyes. 

“Won’t Sally be furious,” Lee Davis 


232 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


chuckled “when she finds we’ve eaten Christ¬ 
mas dinner with you two? That alone is 
worth the trip!” 

Peter Craig was quiet, saying little, keeping 
his eyes for the most part on Patricia. 

“We should have snow enough to satisfy 
you,” said Ray. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Joyce came to life, 
“I do hope you have warm clothes. There’s 
a bobbing party on to-night. They’ve iced 
North Elm Street, and it’s going to be a lark!” 

“Our flying suits should be just right for 
that,” spoke up Peter Craig. “They are in 
the back of the car we drove over in. I didn’t 
quite like to leave them at the flying-field in 
Minneapolis.” 

Arrangements were made that Lee and his 
friend were to stay at Grandma Parsons’, and 
Patricia was to spend the night with Joyce. 

“We must be up and away early to-morrow 
morning, though,” said Peter Craig.^ 

“We wired from Minneapolis where we 
were,” Lee chuckled again. “I know Sally 
is just dancing up and down in rage by this 
time.” 

The bobbing party was a hilarious success. 
Each bob carried from six to ten persons. 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


233 


Steering these sleds down the long icy slope of 
Elm Street was no mean accomplishment. 
Raoul Hunter took charge of the first sled, 
with Joyce on the tail-end. He looked around 
for Patricia, but she was standing near Peter 
Craig, helping him fix his bob for starting. 
With a little push and a shout, Joyce leaped 
on the flying bob-sled. Like a streak of 
greased lightning, they were off down the long, 
icy slide, whizzing ever faster and faster. 
The wintry wind tore at loose ends of hair and 
whipped cheeks with a frosty snap. The moon 
was up and the air was full of silver. Faster 
and faster they went, shouting and hilarious. 
This street for five blocks had been given over 
to sliding purposes, and there was no danger 
of cross-streets. With a deft turn, Ray 
brought the bob about at the end of the slide. 
The rear end tipped slightly on the turn, spill¬ 
ing Joyce and Caroline Boyd into a heap of 
snow. Sputtering and laughing, the girls 
jumped to their feet and ran towards Raoul. 

“ Let’s duck him,” insisted Joyce. 

Raoul, however, was perfectly capable of 
taking care of himself. Up the hill they went, 
willing hands tugging at the long rope that 
pulled the bob. When they were half-way up, 


234 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


another sled whizzed by them, the riders 
laughing and shouting. Ray paused and 
watched them. 

“I hope Lee makes the turn all right,” he 
worried. 

Lee successfully took the swing, and Ray 
sighed in relief. 

“He’s never steered one before,” he confided 
to Joyce, “and they’re tricky things.” 

“Don’t I know it!” exclaimed Joyce. 
“When I steer one, all I can ever see is a high 
board fence of telephone poles.” 

The third bob whizzed past, with Peter 
Craig steering, and Patricia close behind him. 
Raoul was extremely quiet the rest of the way 
up the hill. When he reached the top he sat 
down on the bob. 

“Come on,” shouted two or three, “let’s 
get started before the others get here.” 

Ray neither moved nor answered, and his 
passengers were forced to dance and hop about 
in the snow to keep warm. 

The other two bobs came up together. 
Patricia was covered with snow from top to 
toe. 

* 

“We had a terrible spill.” She laughed as 
she said it, but she still limped. “This Craig 


CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS 


235 


man may be able to handle a flying-machine, 
but he’s not so good on solid earth. Ray 
Hunter, I ride with you from now on.” 

With a shout, Ray leaped to his feet, his 
eyes shining. He whirled the long bob-sled 
to the top of the slide and gayly assisted 
Patricia to the next place behind himself. 

“ All aboard for the Big Special,” he shouted. 

“ Patricia!” Joyce pretended to pout. 
“You’ve just naturally made each person 
move back one space—and that leaves me 
sitting in mid-air.” 

“There’s plenty of room on my bob,” said 
Lee Davis, gallantly. “I think we need an 
extra push. We didn’t go nearly fast enough 
last time. Come on, Joy, be tail-light for us.” 

After sliding until they were half frozen, and 
“absolutely starved,” as Joyce put it, every 
one went gayly back to the Hunter home, 
lugging the bobs with them. Mrs. Hunter 
and Grandma Parsons had prepared waffles 
and sausage cakes enough to feed an army. 

“What a day!” Patricia stretched luxuri¬ 
ously as she and Joyce were preparing for bed. 
“It was certainly lots nicer than it would have 
been in that stuffy old school.” 



236 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Patricia! ” said Joyce. ‘ ‘School isn’t stuffy. 
It’s wonderful.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” Suddenly Patricia 
giggled. “Do you know why that Craig man 
upset our bob?” 

“No,” said Joyce. “How did it happen? 
It was the only time he did it all evening. 
I rode with him several times.” 

“I called him ‘Pete’. He was absolutely 
furious, so furious he forgot what he was doing. 
He turned around and glared at me. ‘Only 
one person in the world is allowed to call me 
that name,’ he said. ‘Who is it?’ I asked, 
startled. Then we dumped. His mouth was 
full of snow, but he managed to sputter, 
‘Sally Orcutt’.” 





CHAPTER XV 


BASKET-BALL 

“Well, here we are, back again.” Patricia 
dropped her purse and gloves on her dressing- 
table and sank into a chair with a sigh. 

“Wasn’t it a glorious vacation?” Joyce’s 
eyes danced. 

“I know, you’re thinking of those lovely 
roses Lee Davis sent you,” teased Patricia. 

“I’m not,” Joyce defended herself, “al¬ 
though it was nice of him. I liked them 
heaps better than Roy Walker’s candy.” 

Patricia giggled. 

“You’ve certainly acquired Roy Walker. 
I think you’ve eliminated Marion Howland 
altogether.” 

“Oh, I hope not!” Joyce looked worried. 
“It’s like acquiring money under false pre¬ 
tenses. He never knew I was on earth until 
you and Sally called me an heiress. Besides, 
I don’t like him.” 

“Oh, let it alone,” advised Patricia. 
“Marion needs an eye-opener.” 

Joyce said no more, but she resolved firmly 

237 


238 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


to enlighten Roy Walker the next time she 
saw him. At that second the door burst 
open and a whirlwind enveloped Joyce, a 
whirlwind which turned out to be Bobby 
Howland. 

“I am glad to see you two.” Bobby 
danced over to Patricia and hugged her. 
“Did you have a good time during vacation? ” 

“Oh, glorious!” Both Patricia and Joyce 
broke into speech. 

“Tell me about it.” 

Needing no further urging, both girls 
talked at once, interrupting each other, 
laughing and chattering. 

School started with a vim. The girls 
returned from vacation with fresh enthusiasm 
and energy. The new members of the basket¬ 
ball team were to be chosen at the first 
meeting. Joyce went with a high-beating 
heart. The fact that she had not made 
Turk’s Head bothered her not at all, but she 
was eager to make the basket-ball team; not 
the first team,—she had no hope of that,—but 
the second, which was really almost as im¬ 
portant as the first. The second team was 
known as the Green Team, the first as the 
White Team, for the suits of the first were of 


BASKET-BALL 


239 


white trimmed with green, and those of the 
second were green, trimmed with white. 
Either team made a striking appearance on 
the floor, and the last two years even the 
Green Team had played outsiders. 

“The White Team may be beautiful, but 
it’s a costly job keeping the suits clean,” 
groaned Bobby. 

“You shouldn’t complain,” said Joyce, 
“making first team at your age and with 
your experience.” 

“I deserve to make it, don’t I?” asked 
Bobby, with her impish grin. 

“Well, to be honest, I suppose you do,” 
said Joyce with a smile, “although it’s a 
bit hard on Marion.” 

“Oh,” Bobby shrugged her shoulders in 
disdain, “since Marion’s fallen in love, basket¬ 
ball no longer interests her. She could easily 
have held her place as forward, but she never 
comes out for practice any more.” 

“Fallen in love! With whom?” 

“Oh, she thinks it’s Roy Walker, but it 
isn’t.” 

Joyce was startled. “Who is it?” 

“Herself! Marion really should be an 
actress. She is such a dramatic soul, at 


240 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


times. But do hurry, Joyce. We’re late 
now.” 

The White Team now consisted of Patricia 
at center, with Helen Bigbee and Doris 
Caldwell as side-centers; Bobby had Marion’s 
place as forward with Fran Evans, while 
Alice Dane and Philo Cornish played guards. 
Philo was highly pleased to be on the first 
team. The second team was far more va¬ 
riable. Joyce occasionally played center, 
although more often she played forward. 
She preferred this latter position. 

Miss Brockwell sounded her whistle and 
the teams lined up. For ten minutes the 
play was fast and furious, and then Miss 
Brockwell blew for rest. Philo Cornish 
dropped near Joyce 

“You ought to be playing forward on the 
first team in Fran Evans’ place,” she said. 

“Oh, no,” said Joyce. “She plays a 
much better game than I do.” 

“A much trickier game! I’m surprised 
that Miss Brockwell doesn’t see it.” 

“But—” protested Joyce. 

“I know whereof I speak. I’m guarding 
you, and I have at times played guard against 
Fran Evans. You play a bettter game.” 


BASKET-BALL 


241 


Despite the opinion of Philo Cornish and 
two or three of the other girls, Joyce did not 
make first team, but she was well content 
with her place on second. 

The first game of the season was played 
in the home gymnasium. The opposing team 
was from the Oakley school. Several girls from 
this school came as spectators and to support 
their own team. Joyce, in her green suit, 
sat on the side-lines, tense with excitement. 

The Oakley girls outplayed Miss Brent’s 
girls despite Patricia’s tallness and Bobby’s 
quickness. They found a weak spot in Fran 
Evans and played it for all it was worth. 
At the end of the first half the score stood 
six to nothing, in favor of the Oakley team. 
Joyce groaned as the whistle blew. 

“Oh, Patricia,” she whispered, “we can’t 
. let them beat us!” 

Intermission was quickly over, and the 
girls lined up again. The whistle blew and 
the ball rose gracefully. A quick jump, and 
Patricia had it. It rose again and dropped 
into Fran Evans’ arms. There was a 
scramble, between Frances and her guard, 
then the sharp sound of the whistle. Miss 
Brockwell ran to the spot, followed by several 


242 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


of the girls. The guard was flat on her back, 
Fran Evans standing triumphant over her, 
the ball in her hands. Miss Brockwell looked 
from one girl to the other, then dropped to her 
knees. The guard was not greatly injured, 
but she was unable to finish the game. Fran 
Evans smiled as she was helped from the floor. 

Without a word Miss Brockwell took the 
ball from Fran Evans, blew her whistle, 
announced a double foul. Then very quietly 
she led Fran from the floor and summoned 
Joyce to take her place. 

Joyce’s knees shook so hard as she lined for 
the throw, that she could scarcely see the 
basket. She shut her eyes and shot blindly, 
but luck was with her. The ball rose in a 
beautiful arc, and swished through the basket, 
the first score for Miss Brent’s. The forward 
on the Oakley side missed her throw, and the 
score stood six to one. 

Heartened by this, Miss Brent’s girls 
played as they had never played before. 
Time after time the ball reached Joyce, but 
her guard was stronger than she and very 
active. Time was flying, and the score was 
still six to one. Again the ball was in Joyce’s 
hands, and again the basket far away and 


BASKET-BALL 


243 


the guard close by. Out of the corner of her 
eye Joyce saw Patricia well away from her 
guard. She dribbled the ball, whirled 
quickly, and shot it back to center. Patricia 
was surprised, but quick to comprehend. 
Like a flash, she caught the ball and stood 
poised. It was a long shot to the basket 
from where she stood, but the way was clear. 
Patricia aimed and threw, just as her guard 
leaped toward her, but the maneuver was 
successful. The ball dropped in and through, 
amid much cheering. Six to three! Not so 
bad. A few seconds later Patricia and Joyce, 
now fully understanding each other, did the 
same trick. Six to five! But the third 
attempt was a failure. Patricia’s guard had 
waked up. 

Six to five, and the last quarter nearly 
gone. Joyce was frantic. She could not 
shake off her guard. Surely there couldn’t 
be more than two minutes left to play. The 
Oakley girls had just missed another free 
shot, amid groans of their friends. The ball 
was up in the center. Patricia had it. 
Straight at Joyce it came. She fumbled, 
caught it, and, with an idea, she threw it to 
Patricia, clapped her hands, and jumped. 


244 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Her guard was close beside her. Patricia 
caught the ball, keeping off her own guard. 
With a quick motion Joyce was around her 
guard and across the floor. Patricia threw 
the ball. Joyce caught it, whirled, and 
aimed straight at the basket. The ball hit 
the rim, teetered a minute, and slid in, just 
as time was called for the end of the game. 

Breathless and excited, the girls gathered 
around Joyce to give their call. 

“No doubt of you making the White Team 
now,” Philo Cornish whispered to her ex¬ 
citedly. 

“You made two baskets, Joyce. I didn’t 
get a chance,” wailed Bobby. 

“You didn’t take one,” teased Joyce. 
“But then,” she added honestly, “I think 
Patricia was trying to help me to make the 
team.” 

“Is that so?” said Patricia. “Your own 
playing did that.” 

Joyce was so delighted over having made 
the team that she called Ray to tell him 
about it. 

“Good for you, Joy! I think that calls 
for a celebration.” 

“I’d like that. What shall it be?” 


BASKET-BALL 


245 


Raoul considered. 

“There’s a big carnival on down here. 
It’s a benefit of some sort. Do you think 
you could get permission to come to it?” 

“I don’t know. Patricia’s a senior, and 
you’re my brother. We might. May I bring 
Bobby Howland, too?” 

“By all means—Saturday afternoon.” 

With a little difficulty, permission was 
acquired. Joyce was stunned by. the size of 
the building. Three floors of it had been 
given over to flower-selling, to booths for 
fortune-tellers, to performances of different 
sorts. 

Bobby and Joyce took to collecting 
“fortunes.” Since there were at least a 
dozen booths of this sort on each floor, and 
since each teller had widely different methods 
and widely different results, the girls grew 
hilarious. After the third one, they went at 
it in a business-like way, writing down what 
they could remember, comparing notes. 

“I was to be very wealthy and a society 
lady in the first one,” giggled Bobby. “This 
last one said I should always have to work 
for my living.” 

With shouts of laughter they prepared to 


246 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


enter the tent of Mizra, the most popular of 
all the fortune-tellers, but they were halted 
at the entrance, and led to chairs in the outer 
part of the tent. 

“Some one is within,” the attendant in¬ 
formed them. 

They waited more or less patiently until 
the curtain was raised. 

“Why, Marion!” gasped Bobby. 

Marion paused, tried to step back, but at 
that instant Boy Walker joined her. 

“Well, you two!” Bobby was disgusted. 

“She told us some marvellous things,” 
Marion flashed Boy Walker an adoring look. 

“Bosh! Did you have permission to come 
here?” 

Marion blushed and stammered, but was 
saved from answering by the attendant, who 
approached and addressed Bobby. 

“You may enter now.” 

“No, thanks,” said Bobby. “I’ve lost my 
taste for it. Come on, Joyce. Let’s get out 
of here.” 

Boy Walker had seen Joyce, and, much to 
every one’s disgust, he insisted upon joining 
their party. They found Baoul and Patricia 
at the Flower Show, inspecting row upon 


BASKET-BALL 


247 


row of chrysanthemums of various shades, 
sizes, and colors. 

“They are the most gorgeous things!” 
Patricia sighed blissfully. “Oh—Roy 
Walker—” Her manner changed subtly. 

Marion had grown sulky, and as soon as 
she possibly could, she excused herself on the 
grounds that she must report at school. 
Roy Walker made no attempt to go with her, 
much to Joyce’s disgust. He insisted upon 
going to a near-by tea-shop. And though 
the food was delicious and the music and 
dancing both enjoyable, Joyce was glad when 
the party broke up and she escaped from his 
attentions. 

“I just can’t stand him,” Joyce confided to 
Bobby. 

“And of course that makes you all the 
more attractive,” nodded Bobby. 

The next big event was the swimming- 
meet. This was held in the evening, and no 
outsiders were allowed. The clubs grouped 
together on one side of the pool, cheering for 
their own entrants. These girls pointedly 
ignored Patricia. Joyce entered the pre¬ 
liminaries, and was really thrilled at the sight 
of so many girls gathered to watch. But 


248 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce was not a strong swimmer, and was 
eliminated early. Patricia was forbidden to 
enter because of her recent illness. 

The last and biggest event of the evening 
was the long-distance swim. The girls went 
round and round the pool. Joyce had dressed 
and was watching by Patricia’s side. One 
by one the swimmers dropped out until only 
three were left,—Mary Taintor, Philo Cornish, 
and Bobby. Patricia chuckled. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Joyce, surprised. 

“ There are the three most representative 
girls in school, the best liked, the most athletic, 
and every one of them refused to join a Club.” 

Gallant little Bobby dropped out first. 

“Whew!” she said as she came up the 
steps, dripping. “I thought I was good,— 
but—” she sank into a heap. 

Joyce and Patricia helped her to a dressing- 
room. When they returned, Philo was 
shaking Mary Taintor by the hand. 

“You win,” said Philo. “You deserve to 
win.” 

“I’ve swam in almost every ocean,” panted 
Mary. “After to-night, I think I could swim 
across the biggest one.” 

The girls escorted her gayly to her room. 



Gallant little Bobby dropped out first. —Page 248 , 































BASKET-BALL 


249 


“It must be wonderful to be you!” Joyce 
looked at her round-eyed. 

Mary hugged her. 

“Joyce Hunter, you’re a darling. It seems 
as though I just haven’t seen you at all since 
the Christmas holidays. I did see a lot of 
you when I first got back, but this business of 
being a senior is an exhausting one. It certainly 
keeps you doing something every instant.” 

“I know,” said Joyce. “If Patricia and 
I didn’t room together, I don’t believe I’d 
ever see her.” 

“That reminds me,” Mary turned to 
Patricia, “they’ve made me Mistress of 
Ceremonies for the valentine party. You’ll 
sing for us, won’t you, Patricia?” 

Patricia flushed. 

“I will, if you want me to, Mary, but, 
truly, I’d rather not.” 

“Why?” 

Patricia was silent for a minute, her lips 
tight together. 

“The club girls! ” she burst out. “They’ve 
all been horrid! Not that I care—” 

Mary opened her eyes wider. 

“I see. Well, all the more, then, I want 
you to sing.” 


250 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Patricia nodded, but did not speak again. 

The valentine party was only for the girls 
of the school. It began with an elaborate 
dinner. Joyce, attired in her loveliest gown, 
her hair shining, her face aglow, enjoyed 
every instant of the meal. The girls all 
saved their valentines, to open them at the 
table. Joyce’s place was piled as high as 
any one’s with flowers and various tokens of 
the dav. This was the one dinner in the 
year when the girls were allowed to choose 
their own places. Mary Taintor, Patricia, 
Joyce, Bobby Howland, Philo Cornish, Alice 
Dane, and Doris Caldwell all sat together, 
with Miss Brockwell for their hostess. 

“I really feel quite out of it,” smiled Mary. 
“Do you realize that I am the only one here 
who isn’t on the White Team? ” 

“You can’t be very athletic,” teased 
Patricia. “You only won the long-distance 
swim.” 

Patricia was gay, but it was easy to see it 
was a forced gayety. 

After dinner the girls adjourned to the 
large reception-room. Mary had arranged 
for a musical program, calling only on the 
talent in the school. There were several 


BASKET-BALL 


251 


very delightful numbers. The last on the 
program was Patricia’s song. 

She sang two rather difficult bits, which 
Joyce did not fully appreciate,—a charming 
little French song, and then a very modern 
bit, “Cargoes.” This drew a picture of 
three varied ships and their cargoes. The 
first two boats were lovely, their cargoes 
poem-pictures. “Sweet white wine,” ended 
the first verse. The second verse was of the 
“stately Spanish galleon,” and its rich cargo 
of gold and silks; the last was a scrubby 
steamer, bunting through the fog of the 
English Channel, its cargo consisting of 
“cheap tin trays,” a sordid contrast to the 
pictures of beauty, but strikingly vivid. 
The tune had a lilting swing, and Patricia 
rendered it well. At the end there was a 
little desultory clapping. 

Patricia flushed and walked from the piano. 
The girls all flocked around the other per¬ 
formers, who were, for the most part, club 
girls, cutting Patricia noticeably. Joyce 
rushed up to her, her hands clenched. 

“Don’t you mind, Patricia. I’ll get right 
up here and tell them what they all amount 
to.” 



252 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“No! no!” protested Patricia. “Where 
is Mary?” 

“She and Philo were called out a few 
minutes ago. I don’t know where Bobby has 
gone.” 

“I’m going to my room,” Patricia turned 
away. 

“I’m going with you,” Joyce’s loyal heart 
was aching for her friend. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE HORSEBACK TRIP 

“Where are you girls going for your Easter 
vacation?” Mary Taintor asked one Sunday 
afternoon. “We have ten days this year.” 
The girls were lounging around, eating candy, 
reading books. 

“Gracious!” said Patricia. “Is it so late 
in the year already? I had a cable from Dad 
this morning. They will not be home until 
after vacation-time at least. They’ve been 
delayed again.” 

“My mother and father are coming up from 
the South,” said Bobby, “and that means I’ll 
stay right here in New York for my vacation. 
No thrill to that!” 

“I wish I might go home,” said Joyce, “but 
of course that is out of the question.” 

“Why I asked,—” Mary leaned over, se¬ 
lected a fat chocolate, and popped it into her 
mouth, then she gulped and gasped. “Why 
didn’t you tell me that was one of those juicy 
cherries?” 

The other three all shouted with laughter, 

in which Mary joined as soon as she was able. 

253 


254 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


44 Now,” she said when she caught her breath 
again, 44 Mother and Dad and I are taking a 
horseback trip through the Shenandoah Valley. 
Daddy thought maybe you three might care 
to join us.” 

44 0h!” wailed Bobby. 4 'Perfectly marvel¬ 
ous! And I can’t go. It’s quite impossible.” 

Joyce gasped and looked at Patricia. 

Patricia’s face was aglow. 

44 Mary, how wonderful! I’d love it. Would 
you Joyce?” 

44 Would I!” 

44 We are going to the Luray Caverns first, 
and then just gypsy around.” 

44 1 could weep,” said Bobby. 

And Bobby did all but weep when she saw 
the girls starting off without her. They went 
by train to Washington, and from there to the 
Luray Caverns. 

The Caverns enchanted Joyce, although she 
felt a queer little thrill when she found herself 
actually underground. 

44 1 feel like a gnome,” Joyce shivered delight¬ 
fully. 

The stalactites and stalagmites formed 
weird figures. In some places the cave roof 
came down so low they grazed their shoulders 


THE HORSEBACK TREP 


255 


against it, and again it was so high that it 
formed a perfect dome over their heads. 

“The last cavern I was in,” said Mary, “was 
the Blue Grotto of Capri. That is lovely, and 
all the more fascinating because you have to 
enter it by boat, but I think this is extremely 
interesting.” 

“It gives me funny little shivers,” said 
Joyce. 

The owner of the caves, Mr. Southwich, 
joined them and invited them up to his house 
for lunch. He was a delightful old man, 
sweet and thoughtful, and his hospitality was 
as charming as himself. He showed his guests 
how his house was piped, so that in summer 
the cool air from the caves kept him comfort¬ 
able. 

The next day they started on their horse¬ 
back trip. The day was a soft April one, full 
of the cloudy blueness of Virginia. Joyce 
caught her breath as she gazed at the undulat¬ 
ing hills, softly blue, that rolled away before 
her. Each girl had a horse claimed to be 
trustworthy. Patricia had her own horse, 
Challenge, which had been sent on; Joyce 
longed for Skip or even for Thunder, but made 
the best of the blue roan; Mary had a nervous 


256 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


little black horse that jumped at every sound, 
but Mary rode him confidently. Mrs. Taintor 
had the most gentle horse, and Mr. Taintor, 
the heaviest and blackest. It was a very 
merry party that started out. 

“Oh, we have hills in Minnesota,” breathed 
Joyce, “but they’re never like this.” 

“No, the Shenandoah is alone in its glory,” 
said Mrs. Taintor. 

“ I used to think when people said the moun¬ 
tains of Virginia were blue that they were 
wrong, but I’ve learned better,” said Mary. 

“ 4 There are more, things in Heaven, and 
earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your 
philosophy’,” quoted Mr. Taintor to his 
daughter. 

44 1 should think Mary had seen most of 
them,” said Patricia. 

“Most of the seeable ones, perhaps,” said 
Mary quietly, 44 but there is so much in life 
that isn’t seen. What is it the Bible says 
about the unseen things being the eternal 
ones?” 

“And if we are quoting,” said Mrs. Taintor 
gently, 44 Let us not forget L’Avengro.” 

44 What is that?” asked Joyce. 44 I never 
heard of it.” 


THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


257 


“ ‘There is day and night, Brother, both 
sweet things: 

‘There is sun, moon, and stars, Brother, 
all sweet things; 

‘There is likewise a wind on the heath. 5 ” 

Mrs. Taintor spoke in her musical voice. 
“It seems so appropriate for a trip of this sort.” 

“Only,” teased Mr. Taintor, “I’m afraid it’s 
more likely to be a rain than a wind on the 
heath.” 

Joyce found both Mr. and Mrs. Taintor 
charming. She had met them before when 
they had been in Minneapolis, but that was 
only a fleeting glimpse. She felt that now she 
was beginning really to know them. Mr. 
Taintor was a tall man, well-built, athletic- 
looking, decidedly an outdoor person. His 
face was ruddy, his hair more than slightly 
grey, but he was active and strong, seeming 
never to tire. He loved to tease, but the 
ready smile which accompanied his remarks 
was always balm, and if any one were in 
trouble, he was kindness itself. Joyce ad¬ 
mired especially his efficiency in any emer¬ 
gency. Mrs. Taintor was slender and dark. 
Her eyes were almost black, and they glowed 
continually, as though lit by an inner fire. 


258 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Her manner was easy, her voice soft, but she 
seemed able to endure any sort of hardship. 

“No wonder Mary is such a wonderful girl,” 
said Joyce, impulsively. 

“Only isn’t it a shame,” teased Mary, “that 
I’m neither beautiful like Mother nor stunning 
like Dad?” 

“Why, you are!” Joyce looked at her in 
surprise. 

“Which? Stunning or beautiful?” teased 
Mary. 

“Both,” said Joyce. 

“Which goes to show,” said Mary with a 
laugh, “that beauty is usually in the eyes of 
the beholder.” 

“But, Mary, you are beautiful,” insisted 
Joyce. 

“I would be perhaps,” said Mary ruefully, 
“if I weren’t so ‘pleasingly plump,’ as Dad 
puts it.” 

“My mother was, to me, the finest woman 
who ever lived,” said Mr. Taintor. “You 
make me think of her, Mary.” 

“Gracious,” exclaimed Mary, “if I get any 
more compliments this morning, I shall not 
be able to sit on this horse.” 

Even as she spoke, the horse shied at a little 


THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


25 9 


eddy of dust in the road, and Mary nearly 
lost her balance. 

The first day was an easy one. They 
stopped for a picnic lunch, which every one 
heartily enjoyed. Joe, a big Russian, who 
had for years been Mr. Taintor’s servant and 
body-guard, drove a camp car ahead, filled with 
supplies and tents. Things were always ready 
when the horseback riders arrived. 

“This is certainly camping de luxe, 55 said 
Mary. “ Sometimes I’m almost ashamed of it. 
You should have seen Dad and I rough it in the 
Rockies last summer.” 

“Your mother wasn’t along then,” Mr. 
Taintor reminded Mary gently. 

Mary winked at the girls. 

“I’m such a big, husky brute, I don’t count.” 

“Well,” teased her father, “there is cer¬ 
tainly nothing fragile about you.” 

They camped in the open the first night. 
Joe had three tents pitched, a roaring camp¬ 
fire going, and the hot meal all prepared. The 
girls all ate like ravenous savages. 

“There must be something in this air,” 
sighed Mary. “ I never ate so much in my life.” 

“No,” said her father, smiling, “ordinarily a 
crust of bread and a little tea satisfies you.” 


260 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


After supper Mary coaxed Joe into telling 
them some of the weird tales of his own land. 

“How does he happen to be named Joe if 
he’s a Russian?” Joyce whispered to Mary. 

“Oh, that isn’t his name, really,” Mary 
whispered back. “His real name is an un¬ 
pronounceable one, full of c’s and z’s and w’s, 
but Dad calls him Joe, and from Dad he’ll 
accept anything,—eats out of his hand, as it 
were.” 

Joyce looked at the man, round-eyed. 

“He certainly is large!” 

“And a lamb,” added Mary. “Dad rescued 
him from wolves one night in Siberia, ten or 
eleven years ago.” 

“Not real wolves!” ejaculated Joyce. 

“They were real, all right. Ask Joe. He 
still carries a big scar on one shoulder where 
two of them attacked him.” 

“How terrible!” shuddered Joyce. 

“Maybe he’ll tell us about it,” suggested 
Patricia, who had joined them. 

“I doubt it,” said Mary. “It is too sacred 
a thing to him to be talked about in public, but 
he has loads of other wild tales that are fully 
as exciting.” 

So it proved. Seated around the glowing 



THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


261 


camp-fire, the girls listened to long tales of 
foreign lands, tales of cold and snow and starva¬ 
tion, of queer customs, of eerie happenings, all 
told in Joe’s deep, sonorous voice. 

“Goodness!” Joyce shivered as she crawled 
between her blankets a little later. “I’m glad 
I live in the good old United States.” 

For four days they rode to their heart’s con¬ 
tent, seeing new scenery, breathing invigorat¬ 
ing air, enjoying life in the open, and sleeping 
at night in the tents Joe always had ready for 
them. But on the fifth day catastrophe over¬ 
took them. 

It was a wet, raw morning when they 
started. Joe had had trouble with the car, 
and remained behind. Bain was drizzling and 
a cold wind was blowing. Mr. Taintor looked 
at the group of women. 

“I’m worried about every one of you,” he 
said, “except Mary. I know she’s as hardy 
as a head of cabbage.” 

“Dad, aren’t you unkind! You might at 
least have compared me to a flower of some 
sort.” 

“ All the flowers I can think of at the minute, ” 
he replied, his smile broader than usual, “are 
either tall and slender, or small and modest. 


262 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


However, Mary, I shall certainly depend on 
you. These others look frail, somehow.” 

“ What’s that! ’ ’ exclaimed Joyce. “ Not me! ’ ’ 

Mr. Taintor smiled at her, not averse to 
teasing some one besides Mary. 

“ Ungrammatical,” he ejaculated, “but 
correct!” 

Joyce herself was a trifle worried about 
Patricia, although she needn’t have been, for 
that young lady was completely recovered from 
her illness. 

The horses seemed to feel more skittish than 
usual. It took all Joyce’s ability to keep her 
horse tractable. Little by little a feeling of 
nervousness invaded the party. 

“What’s the matter with us all?” Mary 
tried to laugh off the feeling of uneasiness. 

“I suppose it’s nothing,”—Mrs. Taintor 
admitted her worry,—“but I shall be glad 
when evening comes.” 

It was almost noon when they struck the bad 
bit of road. On one side were thick brambles; 
on the other a drop of twenty-five or thirty 
feet, which in spots lengthened to fifty or sixty 
feet. The rain had made the narrow road 
slippery, and there was no protection on either 
side. 



THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


263 


Mr. Taintor paused when he came to this. 

“Dear, we should have stayed on the main 
road this bad weather,” worried Mrs. Taintor. 

“Oh, but this road is so much more pictur¬ 
esque,” insisted Mary. 

Mr. Taintor had a worried frown. 

“I’ll go first. Mary, you had better follow 
me, then Patricia, Joyce, and your mother can 
come last.” 

“Oh, Dad, really I ought to bring up the 
rear. If any of the horses get too near the 
edge, I’ll dash up and shove them back.” 

Mr. Taintor smiled for a second, and then 
the frown returned to his brow. 

“Perhaps it would be wiser for you to be 
last. That horse of your’s is a bit gay.” 

Cautiously, they started. They were nearly 
half over the bad stretch, had just rounded 
a difficult corner, when an automobile horn 
sounded sharply behind them. Surprised and 
startled, Mary reined in her horse sharply. He 
resented this, shied, pawed the air. Mary had 
him in control until a car whirled around the 
corner and stopped short with grinding brakes. 
The car skidded sideways, the horse jumped 
and plunged—and disappeared over the edge 
of the road, still bearing Mary. 


264 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


For a second every one was stricken dumb; 
then there was a mad scramble to the edge of 
the road; but before any one reached it, the 
driver of the car was out of his seat, and slid¬ 
ing feet foremost down the steep bank. 

“Joe!” gasped Mrs. Taintor. 

Below was a heap of kicking horse and white¬ 
faced girl. Almost by bodily strength Joe 
seemed to lift the horse to his feet. Free, the 
animal managed to scramble up the steep bank. 
Joe bent over a silent Mary and picked her up 
tenderly in his strong arms. 

“Go back,” he shouted to Mr. Taintor, 
who had started down the bank. 

To climb that steep bank with the limp girl 
in his arms was a task no one but a giant could 
have performed, but Joe was a giant. 

“Is she—is she—?” Mrs. Taintor, white 
of face, could not voice the terrible word. 

Joe smiled as sweetly as a woman. 

“No—Mrs. Taintor—only she faint.” 

At that second Mary opened her eyes and 
smiled faintly at her father. A sigh of relief 
ran around the trembling group. 

“Are you all right, Mary?” 

“I—I—think so—only—my leg hurts—a 
good deal.” 




THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


265 


One of the tents was set up immediately, and 
Mary placed in it. With fingers as skilful as 
a surgeon’s, her father probed gently. He 
looked grave as he announced: “I fear there 
is a broken bone. I’m not sure, but I think 
we should see a doctor without delay.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Taintor and the three girls at 
once got into the car, leaving Joe to manage 
the horses and provisions. As rapidly as possi¬ 
ble they drove to the nearest railroad station, 
none too near. Mary seemed perfectly com¬ 
fortable between the other two girls, her leg 
supported stiffly in front of her. 

“I don’t believe it’s broken, Dad.” 

“Perhaps not, but I want expert advice.” 

Mary, unconcerned over her own trouble, 
worried over Patricia and Joyce. 

“It’s just a shame to have your vacation 
spoiled. Five days more, and it’s terrible at 
school with every one gone.” 

“Don’t worry, Mary” insisted Joyce. 

Mary continued to worry and fret. 

“I know,” Patricia had an inspiration; “we 
can go to see Sally Orcutt. She’s been beg¬ 
ging us to come all the year.” 

So it happened that while Mary and her 
mother and father went north to New York, 


266 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Patricia and Joyce went west to Louisville. 
Telegrams had preceded them, and an excited 
Sally met them at the station. 

“Now begin at the beginning,” she de¬ 
manded impetuously, “and tell me every 
single thing that has happened since camp.” 

“You goose,” said Patricia, hugging her, 
“you’ve seen us since then.” 

“I know, only at the game I was too excited 
to remember anything that you told me. 
This way, Joyce.” 

Sally led them to an imposing car. 

“Granny and Dr. Orcutt both wanted to 
come, but I absolutely forbade it. I had to 
have you to myself for five minutes. After 
we reach home I know I’ll never have you 
alone a second.” 

Gayly she chattered on. Joyce ! listened, 
and watched as the car swung through the 
noisy streets of the town, and out through 
quieter residence districts. It finally turned 
into a long, cypress-lined drive, at the end of 
which stood a magnificent old Colonial home. 

“Sally!” gasped Joyce. “How—how gor¬ 
geous!” 

“It’s comfy,” admitted Sally as they drew 
up and she jumped from the car. “Do hurry 


THE horseback; trip 


267 


and powder your nose. We’re going out to 
dinner and the theatre to-night. Lee Davis 
has planned the party.” 

The three days sped by. It seemed to Joyce 
she could hardly catch her breath. Of all the 
gay doings, the one she enjoyed the most was 
the dance Sally gave for them in her own 
beautiful home. 

“It’s a hurry-up affair,” Sally apologized. 
“Lee and Pete Craig really planned it. No 
doubt we’ll have ice-cream cones for refresh¬ 
ments.” 

“Sally,” accused Patricia, “you never told 
us about Peter Craig.” 

Sally smiled impishly. 

“There’s nothing to tell. He’s got the 
‘proper-bug’ almost as bad as Lee. Most 
girls are scared to death of him. I’m not. 
Hence he tags me around like a pet puppy 
dog.” 

“I can’t imagine any one being less like a 
pet puppy dog than Peter Craig!” 

Joyce dressed early, wearing on her shoulder 
the knot of orchids that Lee Davis had sent 
her, and went to sit quietly in the lower hall 
before the huge fireplace. She sat there 
dreaming of the scenes this house must have 


268 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


witnessed in the days when men wore lace and 
the ladies powdered their hair. It seemed to 
her that some of its stately ghosts were mov¬ 
ing about the shining floor and up the polished 
stairs. 

“Too bad,” sighed Joyce, “to frighten the 
beautiful dears away with our jazz music.” 

“Who’s complaining about jazz music?” 

Joyce jumped. The apparition which ap¬ 
peared out of the hall shadows this time was 
not ghostly, but real flesh and blood. 

“Lee Davis! You frightened me!” Joyce 
smiled at him mistily. 

He sat beside her on the wide settle. 

“ Do I always frighten you? Are you really 
afraid of me?” His face glowed as he looked 
down at her. 

“Yes,” Joyce nodded. 

“Why—Joyce?” 

“I don’t know. You know so much. You 
have so much,”—she waved her hand vaguely, 
—“ancestry, heritage, these lovely possessions, 
so many things I lack—things I am conscious 
of when I’m with you.” 

He looked away, hurt. 

“I don’t want you to feel that way with me, 


THE HORSEBACK TRIP 


269 


Joyce. When I’m with you, I try not to be 
so—proper.” 

“I know.” Joyce loved his boyishness. 
“ You’re a dear, Lee. I like you immensely, 
only you do frighten me.” 

‘‘Don’t you realize, Joyce,” Lee was very 
earnest, “that you, with your sweetness and 
your honesty, are as much of a gentlewoman 
as any of these girls about you?” 

Joyce jumped to her feet with a laugh. 

“That’s the sweetest compliment I ever 
received, Lee Davis. As a reward, I’ll dance 
first of all with you.” 

“Oh, I took that for granted.” Lee rose 
also, looking down at her with that fine glow 
still in his face. “And I shall probably cut in 
on more than half the others.” 

Joyce laughed at him over her shoulder as 
she ran back up the stairs, leaving among 
the ghostly memories of that hall one small 
modern memory, faint and modest, but as 
sweet as any of it’s statelier sisters. 


CHAPTER XVII 


ANOTHER SCRAPE 

Patricia and Joyce arrived in New York 
just at dusk. Crowds were hurrying here and 
there through the Grand Central Station. 
Patricia looked about for a Red Cap, and, to 
her annoyance, was unable to find one. 

“I can carry our bags,” said Joyce, 
stanchly. 

Patricia frowned. 

“That is quite unnecessary. I shall find 
one presently. There—there is one, with 
those people! Why, Joyce—there’s Ray.” 
Patricia’s face sparkled. “Who is that with 
him?” 

“It’s Mary Taintor! Then her leg wasn’t 
broken! Good!” 

Joyce ran forward eagerly to greet Mary, 
but Patricia did not leave her post by the 
bags. When Raoul and Mary came up to 
her, the fine glow had departed from Patricia’s 
face. 

“Oh, Mary, are you better?” Somehow 
her voice lacked enthusiasm. 

270 




ANOTHER SCRAPE 


271 


“Yes.” Mary was jubilant. “I’m still 
limping a bit, but it was only a sprain. I 
told Dad I was all right, but he didn’t believe 
it. I’ve been the rounds of half a dozen 
doctors. And, oh, Patricia, I met the 
duckiest one—” 

“Mary, don’t tell me you’ve discovered 
there is another man on earth besides your 
father?” 

“Patricia! Aren’t you unkind!” Mary 
still beamed. 

“Can I say c Hello’ now?” Ray pretended 
to be meek, but his eyes danced. 

“I don’t know whether you 4 can’ or not, 
but you ‘may’,” Patricia retorted. Some¬ 
how the glow had come back into her face. 

“How did you two happen to be here 
together?” asked Joyce. 

“What? Oh, I had your wire and came 
down to wait for the train, and I spied Mary. 
Here, boy.” 

Raoul summoned a Red Cap who was 
hurrying by. Joyce looked at him, sur¬ 
prised by the authority in his voice. It 
seemed to her that Ray had grown subtly 
older, more mature, more accustomed to the 
ways of the city. Joyce shook her head in 





PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


despair over her own gawkiness, not realizing 
that she, too, had developed in the past few 
months. 

“Come along, Joyce.” Mary was still 
jubilant. “Let me lean on your shoulder. 
Mother and Dad are out here in the car. We 
are all going to have dinner together before 
we go out to school.” 

“I should judge,” said Raoul, sagely, 
“that your mother and father were not 
alone.” 

“They are now,” Mary dimpled, “but we 
are going to meet Dr. Felton for dinner.” 

“Ah-ha!” Ray laughed. 

“You’re not too down-hearted yourself,” 
teased Mary. 

“Poor me,” Joyce pretended to sigh, “I’ll 
be the only old maid in the party.” 

“Old maid!” teased Patricia. “Lee Davis 
had to make a running jump to get off after 
the train had started, he was so long saying 
good-by to us” Patricia laughed merrily at 
the memory. “He almost knocked Peter 
Craig down when he landed.” 

“Peter Craig?” asked Raoul quickly. “Was 
he down to see you off?” 

“Yes,” said Patricia, “Peter and Sally.” 


ANOTHER SCRAPE 


273 


Laughing and talking, they joined Mr. 
and Mrs. Taintor. 

The dinner was a huge success. Dr. 
Felton proved to be a rather shy young man 
who wore glasses. Half-way through the 
meal Ray dropped his fork with a clatter. 

“Patricia!” he gasped. “I forgot.” 

“What is it?” Patricia looked alarmed. 

“I had a cable from your father. They 
expect to land next Saturday.” 

Patricia’s eyes were like stars. 

“Next Saturday? You know I hadn’t 
realized I missed them so. Next Saturday!” 

“Shall I come and get you and take you 
down to the pier?” asked Ray. 

The girls slipped easily back into routine. 
Bobby arrived late on Monday morning, 
but found time at noon to hear a hurried 
account of Joyce’s vacation. 

Tuesday evening the president of the 
senior class called a meeting to decide what 
play they should give that year. There was 
a great deal of discussion on the subject, and 
Joyce, sitting quietly in one corner, could 
not but compare this orderly, quiet meeting 
with the noisy gathering of her high-school 
class. Although this meeting was orderly 


274 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


the discussions were heated. At last it was 
decided to produce “Cyrano de Bergerac,” 
for, although it was difficult, it at least gave 
every one an opportunity to appear as a 
Gascony cadet if nothing else. 

The leads were selected. Joyce waited 
with bated breath to hear Patricia’s name 
proposed, for Patricia could act, she was 
stunning, had what is known as “ stage 
presence.” But Joyce listened in vain. 
Marion Howland was chosen as the leading 
lady; Fran Evans was given the part of 
Cyrano, although she was nowhere so well 
fitted for it as Philo Cornish; a girl named 
Estelle Holden was given preference over 
Mary Taintor. 

“Why,” remarked Joyce innocently, after 
the meeting was dismissed, “I didn’t expect 
a part, but you, Patricia, and Mary and 
Philo,—you should all have leads. What 
happened?” 

Patricia, furious, hurt, but too proud to 
show it, waited until she reached her own room 
before she answered. 

“Don’t you see?” Her eyes blazed. 
“Every one of those girls are club girls 
Fran and Marion Howland belong to Turk’s 


ANOTHER SCRAPE 


275 


Head; Estelle Holden belongs to Orion. 
The clubs may be rivals and disagree, but 
they all hang together in a thing of this sort. 
I know. I’ve been on the inside. Oh— 
it’s abominable!” 

Intermittently during the rest of the week 
Patricia raved angrily or was silent with 
disdain, but Saturday all her troubles were 
forgotten in the anticipation of seeing her 
mother and father again. 

Ray called for her early, and Joyce seeing 
the two depart, had rather a lonely little 
feeling in her heart. She sought Bobby. 

“Hello, Joy of my life,” Bobby teased. 
“Why so downcast?” 

“I—I must be lonesome,” admitted Joyce, 
disconsolately. 

At once Bobby’s mocking manner departed. 

“Lonesone! You! Impossible! I shall 
have to cure you at once.” 

“How is it done?” Joyce was amused. 

“Action! Adventure! Whenever I feel really 
blue, I go out and get me into a scrape. You’d 
be surprised what a wonderful cure it is.” 

“Well ” said Joyce, “I have my faults, but 
getting into scrapes doesn’t seem to be one of 
them.” 


£76 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“I know, but it’s where I shine,” Bobby 
twinkled. “Go get your coat and we’ll fare 
forth.” 

Certainly nothing could have seemed a 
milder form of amusement than the leisurely 
walk the two girls began, but before they 
had gone three blocks, Adventure was upon 
them. 

“Oh!” Bobby grasped Joyce’s arm. “The 
poor, baby thing!” 

She pointed. A half-grown bull terrier 
was trying to cross the street. He had his 
tail between his legs and was dodging passing 
cars right and left. Bobby started into the 
street after him, but was detained by Joyce’s 
hand. 

“Wait!” she counselled. 

With bated breath the two girls watched 
while the dog came nearer and nearer. 
Suddenly a car, passing the one in front of 
it, obscured the dog. There was a yelp. 
Bobby shook off Joyce’s hand and dashed 
into the street. She was back in a minute, 
the puppy shivering in her arms. 

“Poor little beastie,” she said as she 
patted the sleek head, “I don’t know whether 
the car hit him or not. He was flat on his 


ANOTHER SCRAPE 


277 

back, all four paws up, puppy-fashion, when 
I reached him. I don’t think he’s hurt, 
only badly scared.” 

The puppy whimpered and tried to lick 
Bobby’s hand with its moist pink tongue. 

“Poor little fellow!” Joyce bent over 
it. Then she straightened. “What are you 
going to do with him, Bobby?” she asked 
practically. 

“ I hadn’t thought of that! ” Bobby looked 
worried. “No doubt he’s lost, but until some 
one advertises, I’m going to keep him,” de¬ 
fiantly. “ I’m not going to let him run loose.” 

“Well and good, keep him,—but where?” 

“I might smuggle him up to my room.” 
Bobby looked dubious. 

“You might!” admitted Joyce. “And 
then, on the other hand, Miss Hodges might 
find him. Can’t you take him home?” 

Bobby shook her head. 

“Mother and Dad have gone away for 
a couple of weeks again. That’s why I’m 
at school on Saturday. None of the servants 
would pay any attention to him except—” 
A smile replaced the worried look in Bobby’s 
eyes. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll take him 
out to the menagerie.” 



278 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


With Bobby, to decide was to act. Despite 
Joyce’s protests, the two girls were soon speed¬ 
ing along in a hired car toward the Howland 
country home, the dog happily snuggled in 
Bobby’s arms. 

Bobby’s menagerie was originally a small 
garage, but it had been equipped with wire 
pens and runways, with feeding-pans and 
water-dishes. There were very few animals 
in it just now,—three cats, a lame dog, and an 
evil-eyed old goat. While Bobby made the 
rounds, talking volubly to Herman, the care¬ 
taker, Joyce wandered out to enjoy the glo¬ 
rious spring air. Not a great ways off, the 
small lake glistened and dimpled. Joyce 
made her way down to its shores, and then 
she had the surprise of her life. 

Seated on a stone, gazing at the lake, sat 
Roy Walker. Joyce gasped in surprise. 

“You’re late, Marion,” Roy turned as he 
spoke, and then he gasped, too. He jumped 
to his feet. “Why, Miss Hunter, this is an 
unexpected pleasure.” 

“Is it?” asked Joyce, wishing desperately 
that Bobby would come. She did not want 
to run. That would look foolish, but if Miss 
Hodges heard she had met Roy away out here, 


ANOTHER SCRAPE 


279 


there would most certainly be trouble. She 
could explain, of course, but explanations 
never really mean anything. “I—I must be 
going now. ” 

“Oh, don’t rush!” the words were extremely 
sarcastic. Joyce whirled to see who had 
spoken. Behind her stood Marion Howland, 
looking lovelier than ever. She gazed from 
one to the other. “So,Roy,this is whom you 
really came out to meet instead of me. Was 
I supposed to chaperon you? Well, let me 
tell you, this is one time you miscalculated.” 

Her head held high in fury, she turned and 
walked away. Joyce ran after her a few steps, 
calling her name, but Marion refused to answer. 

“You might as well come back,” counselled 
Roy Walker, as Joyce stood disconsolately 
watching Marion disappear. 

Joyce stood still, undecided, when a tiny 
squeak behind her made her jump. She 
turned, but nothing was visible. A voice, 
coming seemingly out of a stone, said: “I’m 
a little mouse and—Why, Roy Walker!” 

Joyce whirled again as Bobby came running 
up. 

“Joyce, I thought you were alone. I was 
practising ventriloquism on you.” 


280 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“Well, I’m not alone,” Joyce was decidedly 
worried. 

“Where did you come from?” Bobby 
whirled on Roy Walker. 

He raised his eyebrows, smiled sarcastically, 
and refused to answer. 

“If you expect to meet Marion here—” 
Bobby began angrily, but Joyce interrupted: 
“He has already seen her. I mean, she just 
came down and thought I was here to meet 
him.” 

Bobby’s mouth dropped open. 

“Wheel That does mean trouble.” 

She caught Joyce’s hand and started to run. 

“Come on,” she said, entirely forgetting 
Roy Walker, leaving him to take care of his 
own interests. 

“Where?” gasped Joyce. 

“Hurry. I want to catch Marion before 
she sees Miss Hodges.” 

“Why?” panted Joyce. 

“She was mad, wasn’t she?” Bobby 
paused a minute and looked at Joyce. Joyce 
nodded in reply, too out of breath to speak. 

“When Marion loses her temper, she always 
does something foolish. No doubt she’ll go 
straight to Miss Hodges and tattle on you.” 



ANOTHER SCRAPE 


281 


“Oh—no. I haven’t done a thing.” 

“Marion thinks you have. It amounts to 
the same thing. Hurry! ” 

Bobby was off again toward their hired 
car. Although she urged the driver and he 
did his utmost, Marion had several minutes’ 
start in her own roadster, and she drove well. 
The taxi was further delayed by a blow-out 
and a necessary change of tire. 

The girls reached the school fully half an 
hour after Marion. 

“You go right to your room,” counselled 
Bobby. “I’ll see Hodge-Podge. I’ll know 
in a minute if Marion has said anything. 
If she hasn’t, I’ll find her and make her 
keep quiet.” 

Joyce went quickly to her room, her heart 
palpitating. When she opened the door, she 
saw Patricia. 

“Why, Patricia,”she gasped. “You here?” 

“Yes.” Patricia was disturbed. “Where 
have you been, Joyce?” 

“Why?” Joyce’s spirits dropped. 

“Miss Hodges was just up here looking 
for you.” 

“Oh, no!” Joyce sat down suddenly on 
the edge of the bed. 


282 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“She was perfectly furious. I had just 
come in. I came out to school to change my 
dress and get you. Dad and Mother are 
here,” Patricia’s face lighted, “and they 
want you and Ray and me to go to dinner 
down-town with them. Ray is coming back 
for us. I asked Miss Hodges for permission 
for you, and she said ‘Absolutely not.’ 
What is wrong?” 

Near tears, Joyce poured out the whole 
tale. Patricia listened silently, and then, 
in a towering rage, went to seek Miss Hodges. 
Whatever passed between Patricia and her 
teacher, Joyce never knew. Joyce was not 
allowed to go down-town to dinner. However, 
she insisted, and Patricia went, still too 
angry to speak, leaving Joyce to spend the 
evening with a penitent, regretful Bobby. 

“Joycie, you dear kid, I’m always getting 
you into trouble. I don’t mind for myself, 
but I do hate to see you down-hearted. Miss 
Hodges wouldn’t believe my side of it. Miss 
Brent is away. Never mind. We’ll get out 
of it, some way. And I’ll be reformed— 
forever!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

GRADUATION 

Although Joyce was very much in disgrace 
with Miss Hodges, and was again denied privi¬ 
leges until the end of the year, school con¬ 
tinued the same as ever. 

Basket-ball season was over now, and the 
big event was the senior play. Patricia went 
to rehearsals, but she did so unwillingly. She 
felt the injustice of being placed in a minor 
part, and she was still very angry at Marion 
Howland for her treatment of Joyce. All the 
club girls rallied around Marion and ignored 
Patricia. Patricia tossed her head and^pre- 
tended she did not care. Graduation was 
only a few weeks off, and after that she could 
go wherever she pleased—but the play must 
be put on first. 

A special hall was hired for the perform¬ 
ance, since each girl was allowed to invite 
guests, and no place in the school was large 
enough to accommodate so many persons. 
The stage was strange, the girls had only two 
rehearsals on it beside the dress rehearsal, 

and they were all nervous on the final night. 

283 


284 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Joyce and Bobby had been among the girls 
chosen to usher. Joyce had not been allowed 
to take part in the play, but she was given 
this privilege. Marion had chosen Bobby, 
and Bobby refused to go unless Joyce was 
invited, too. The school authorities allowed 
Joyce this privilege, since the hall was tem¬ 
porarily school-grounds. Radiantly happy, 
Joyce dressed in a simple, becoming frock 
and went with Bobby to the hall. 

The crowd was larger than had been ex¬ 
pected. The ushers were kept busy running 
back and forth, making mistakes, correcting 
them. After every one was seated, Joyce 
and Bobby went “back stage” to rest. 

“My goodness!” Joyce dropped into an old 
discarded chair; “I didn’t know there were 
so many people in the world.” 

“I’m tired, too.” 

“The play is most certainly going to be a 
success. It’s a shame Patricia hasn’t a major 
part.” 

“There are your old clubs again,” said 
Bobby vindictively. “Miss Brent’s would 
really be heaps of fun if it wasn’t for those 
things. Really, I don’t believe I shall come 
back next year on account of them.” 


GRADUATION 


285 


“Oh, no, Bobby,” protested Joyce. 

“You don’t know how I hate them!” 

The girls watched from the wings as the 
play progressed. It was going splendidly, 
although Fran Evans was anything but a 
typical Cyrano. During a balcony scene 
Patricia joined Bobby and Joyce. Standing 
there idly, the girls talked in whispers. 

“It’s going well,” said Patricia. 

“Yes, considering everything,” said Bobby 
judicially. 

“What do you mean?” asked Patricia. 

“You and Philo Cornish should both have 
had leads. But these clubs—” Bobby cast 
her eyes upward. Then her gaze froze. She 
grasped Patricia’s wrist and said in a shrill, 
high voice: 

“Patricia! Look! What’s that?” 

“Bobby—ssh!” whispered Patricia. “Are 
you trying to break up the show because I—? ” 

“No! No! Patricia—look! It’s fire!” The 
last was a shriek. 

Patricia looked then. A thin red streak 
was creeping along the top of one of the 
wings. A slight acrid smell of smoke reached 
the girls. 

“What shall we do?” Bobby was in a panic. 






286 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


“ Joyce, get Bobby away where the people 
out there won’t hear her.” Patricia was all 
efficiency. '‘I’ll get Fran and Marion off the 
stage. Tell whoever is back there to drop 
the asbestos curtain. Get the other girls out. ” 

Patricia stepped quickly onto the stage to 
warn the girls who were acting, but she was 
too late. Bobby’s cry had preceded her. A 
white-faced Fran Evans was running in 
circles, Marion was getting down from her 
improvised balcony, and out in front pande¬ 
monium reigned. 

“Get out of here, quick!” Patricia warned 
the girls. Then she turned and called to the 
people below her: 

“Please be quiet. There is no danger. 
The curtain will soon drop.” 

She might as well have talked to the waves 
of the sea. The hall was not provided with 
the usual exits, and, conscious of this, every 
one was pushing in mad frenzy for the rear 
doors. Patricia realized that danger from 
panic was much greater than danger from 
fire, but she was helpless. She wrung her 
hands for a minute and called again. Then 
suddenly she raised her voice in song, the 
stirring, marching song of the Toreador. 


GRADUATION 


287 


Below her, part of the panic-stricken or¬ 
chestra dropped back into its place. In two 
minutes that tune was swinging through the 
hall. Unconsciously, people slowed, fell into 
the march step, calmed. 

The fire was beginning to sputter and hiss 
behind Patricia now. The asbestos curtain 
had stuck! For a minute the girl gazed 
over her shoulder and her heart leaped, but 
not for one second did that high clear voice 
stop. 

Then another clear voice from away up 
near the front doors called out, 4 'The danger 
is over. Take your time!” 

It was Bobby’s voice. Patricia wondered 
how she had got around there so quickly. 
Even as she wondered, Bobby staggered 
through the flame and smoke and fell against 
Patricia. 

“Get out, Patricia. Go the front way,” 
she gasped. “It’s—terrible—back—there!” 

She crumpled into a heap at Patricia’s feet, 

Patricia stopped her singing to lean over 
Bobby. The crowd was nearly out now. 

“Bobby! Bobby, what’s wrong?” 

“Ashamed—coward—came back,” mum¬ 
bled Bobby. 





288 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


Patricia tried to lift her up. 

“Go on,” gasped Bobby. “Never mind 
me. I’m through.” 

Terror-stricken, Patricia gazed about. Be¬ 
hind her, the stage was a mass of flames. 
She stepped forward to appeal to the piano- 
player, but he had left abruptly when Pa¬ 
tricia had stopped singing. The place was 
deserted. Patricia tried to drag Bobby a 
few steps. 

“Go on,” gasped Bobby. “Go on.” 

“No—no—” 

Then from the wings, from the very flames 
themselves apparently, his coat over his head, 
dashed Raoul. He caught Bobby up easily 
and jumped into the orchestra pit. 

“Come on, Patricia,” he called. “It’s our 
only chance.” 

Patricia climbed agilely down, the flames 
hissing and licking behind her. 

In a few seconds the three of them were in 
the open air, surrounded by an excited crowd. 

Bobby was the only one who suffered any 
ill effects from the fire. All the other girls 
and the entire audience escaped unharmed, 
thanks to Patricia’s efficiency and calmness. 
Needless to say, she not only regained her 


GRADUATION 


289 


old place of prominence in the school, but 
was constantly sought after, the center of one 
admiring group after another. The entire 
school united in voting her the most wonder¬ 
ful girl in their midst, to the complete elimina¬ 
tion of Marion Howland. 

Marion did not heed. She was a very 
subdued girl as she sat by Bobby’s bedside, 
for Bobby was thought to be in a serious 
condition. She had swallowed much smoke 
getting to Patricia, and had received several 
burns, two of which might prove serious. 
She was taken at once to her own home. 
Doctors and nurses were in constant attend¬ 
ance. Marion never moved from her bed¬ 
side. Mr. and Mrs. Howland were hurry¬ 
ing home, but of all this Bobby was scarcely 
conscious. She lay tossing and turning in 
pain for the most part, although occasionally 
she broke forth into wild raving. 

She called incessantly for Patricia and for 
Joyce. Patricia went at once to her bedside, 
but Joyce dare not, since she had already 
broken bounds three times during the year. 
Nearly frantic, she paced her room. If she 
could only reach Miss Brent. She would 
not appeal to Miss Hodges, knowing it would 


290 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


be useless, and worse. And she could not 
find Miss Brent. It never occurred to her 
that the owner of the school would also be 
with Bobby. 

But Miss Brent was with Bobby. 

“Joyce,” moaned Bobby. ‘'Joyce, please 
come.” 

Miss Brent looked in surprise at Marion 
and Patricia. 

“ Why isn't Joyce here? Was she hurt, too? ” 

Marion shook her head miserably, and 
then suddenly the truth came out. 

Miss Brent merely raised her eyebrows. 

“Joyce,” moaned Bobby, tossing wildly, 
“do come. Don’t let those old clubs hold 
you. Look out!” A scream. “Marion— 
get Joyce. The clubs are burning her— 
ah-h-h!” Her voice died away in a low moan. 

Miss Brent looked at the prostrate girl 
curiously. 

“Patricia, you and Marion go and bring 
Joyce Hunter here. I wish to be alone with 
Roberta for a while.” 

«t« 

*7* "T* 

The excitement of the fire had scarcely 
died down before it was Commencement time. 


GRADUATION 


291 


Bobby made a rapid recovery, and, though 
still very pale and much bandaged, she 
managed to attend the graduation exercises. 

These were held in the school hall, and 
only parents and very close friends were 
invited. In the audience were Mr. and Mrs. 
Strickland, Mr. and Mrs. Howland, Mr. and 
Mrs. Taintor, Raoul, Roy Walker, Lee Davis. 
Tears gathered in Bobby’s eyes, Bobby who 
was never given to crying, as she looked up 
and saw leaving the school, Patricia, Joyce, 
Philo Cornish, Mary Taintor, and her own 
sister, Marion. 

“I’ll be all alone next year,” she thought to 
herself. “No one to help me fight those old 
clubs.” 

But Bobby was much mistaken. As Miss 
Brent advanced to present the diplomas, 
she stopped near the front of the platform, 
a tall, dignified, stately woman. She an¬ 
nounced very calmly that, from then on, 
clubs would be absolutely abolished in her 
school, and very easily and confidentially 
she explained why, both to parents and girls. 
Bobby chuckled as she saw the looks of con¬ 
sternation on the faces of Fran Evans and 
Helen Trowbridge. 


292 


PATRICIA’S PROBLEM 


The diplomas were given out, and the 
graduates mingled with their guests. 

Roy Walker strode confidently up to 
Marion Howland, but Marion had a sudden 
and urgent engagement elsewhere. Then he 
sought Joyce, but Joyce was eagerly talking 
to Lee Davis. 

“I was so surprised to see you,” Joyce in¬ 
formed Lee. 

“I thought you would be,” he said. “I 
used Sally’s invitation.” 

“W T hy, Lee!” was all Joyce could say. 

“A terrible thing to do—not proper at all,” 
he admitted. “I wasn’t sure that I could 
persuade them that my name was Sally 
Orcutt, but I managed.” He dropped his 
bantering tone. “I just had to see you, 
Joyce. I wanted to send you flowers, but I 
couldn’t think of any sweet enough for you.” 

“Oh, Lee,” Joyce dropped her eyes, “you— 
you— 

But before she could answer him, Raoul 
and Patricia, Bobby and Mary Taintor, 
joined them. 

“Here we all are, like a bunch of bananas,” 
said Bobby, “and to-morrow, or, at the very 




GRADUATION 


293 


latest, the next day, we’ll be—everywhere 
else.” 

“Not very explicit, Bobby,” Patricia 
laughed. “Anyway, I’ve learned one thing 
this year.” 

“What?” asked Ray. 

“Who my true friends are. How I hate 
to part from you all.” She threw out her 
arms. 

Joyce gazed about. 

“Patricia,” she said, softly “Miss Hodges 
no longer has authority over us, and I don’t 
believe Miss Brent would mind if we went 
over by that piano, and sang, very, very 
softly, our usual farewell song.” 

And so, in subdued, sweet voices, joined 
finally by Raoul and Lee Davis, the girls 
sang: 

“Until we meet again.” 
























































I 


/ 













v 



oooH^ai ^ 31 

















































































































































































































































































